#i also think that if you take those elements out then it becomes glaringly obvious just how weak the script is

[not-a-perfect-metaphor]

Hi! How are you doing? I wanted to get your opinion on another drama in the fandom after The Winchesters finale. All I get from it is facepalm. I don't remember reading it here or elsewhere, but it was saying that after the spn finale, we're in for a deliberate campaign to break the bond between J2 in the public eye. And they clearly succeeded. It's like many fans have gone crazy and can't stop saying for years that J2 were never friends or about friendship breakdown and betrayal. And this is despite the fact that J2 are still close and dear to each other. They still want to work together and will definitely restart spn one day. Not to mention them as a strong couple who have been through a lot. And I think this kind of drama is even good for them. J2 tinhat not much left and not as much attention and emphasis on them anymore. Even just j2 fans are hard to find. There are only individual aggressive fans of each of the J2 and crazy Hellers. At times I think it's even better that way. They can be together without worrying so much about damage control.

I’ve started and restarted this answer so many times, because I feel like it’s such a delicate topic but also something that definitely does need to be addressed.

And I thank you for taking the time to write it out so eloquently!

I guess I’ll start by saying that I absolutely have noticed the number of people jumping onto the anti-‘J2-togetherness’ train, to the point where I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now what factors could be contributing to it.

Mainly because the actual reality of the Js on a day-to-day basis does not match up with what’s been said (with what’s being said), and yes, there definitely have always been those who have projected their own discomforts/disappointments/opposing views etc. onto the Js. Of course we all know that, but you’re certainly right about the fact that it’s become much more prevalent in recent months (I kind of feel like it’s been happening ever since the sequel debacle, really).

And on that note, I do think the issues surrounding the sequel undeniably planted seeds of resentment/negative feelings in probably a pretty big percentage of at least the individuals who were once pro-J2 and who are now anti-J2, and I’m not about to pass judgment on anyone or try to claim that anyone’s feelings/opinions are wrong or bad, because that’s never been what I’m about here.

What I have always said about the prequel drama is essentially this-

The strength of the 15+ year relationship between Jared and Jensen allowed them to heal from all of that, and even in the midst of it, I never doubted they would…and they absolutely, 100% have.

That’s honestly what genuinely matters, at least as it pertains to our discussion about the closeness/trust/love between the two of them, and I guess I would just say…or I would hope…that anyone holding onto their own disappointments might at least be able to distinguish between their own feelings and how the Js have stated and shown they feel.

But again, to each their own.

The other element to mention, I think, is the glaringly obvious one, and something I’ve touched on a few times since the wrapping up of SPN.

It was always going to be really difficult for us, on the outside looking in, to no longer (for now, anyway) get to experience that amazingly personal and constant view of Jared and Jensen’s relationship to the degree we’d all become so accustomed to throughout the decade and a half of SPN, and I think some people lost sight of the fact that just because we’re not able to witness as much of their time together/hear about as much of their relationship/etc. doesn’t mean it isn’t still happening.

And yes, it’s common sense. But I think for some, probably those who weren’t as heavily invested in the first place (although that’s just speculation), the shift was misinterpreted as being linked to a decline in the Js intimacy instead of simply a decline in the amount of that intimacy we get to see.

As for a more formal ‘set-up’ of these rumors and speculations, that’s not something I’ve been privy to or heard anything about, although I’ll absolutely agree with you on the fact that whether there was any staging or simply just the natural progressions one would expect, the dimmed spotlight on the nature of Jared and Jensen’s relationship has certainly allowed them some more freedom and peace, which of course is a good thing.

And it’s not anything we didn’t all realize would happen, those of us who’ve been around for this for as long as we have been. We’ve been talking it over since the start of SPN’s final season.

Digging into these anti-J2 posts, I can tell you that what I personally found is that the vast majority of them, as has always been the case, are originating from hellers, with a small (although, yes, increased) percentage of them seemingly coming from previously pro-J2 folks.

In the end, I guess I’d really love to hear from others and get any additional opinions on this, so please, if you have something to add, let me know!

Edit: as far as J2 tinhats disappearing, I don’t think that’s actually necessarily the case. I know that I tend to vanish for sometimes quite long periods of time, but that’s always been the case, and I see the same group of us (not entirely, but the bulk of us) still wearing our hats and enjoying the Js here on Tumblr. 😊 So definitely hang in there, my friend!

[doux-amer]

Joker was soul-deadening, not because it was depressing and dark (look, as someone who loved Taxi Driver, depressing and dark isn't a problem), but because if you take away Joaquin Phoenix's acting and the cinematography, it was so mediocre and flat. I'm not even really worked up. I just feel emotionless and I shouldn't, but I don't really care that I don't because I never vibed with having a Joker origin story because I feel like it defeats the purpose of his character. He’s supposed to be the personification of chaos. I don’t give a damn about what makes him the way he is. I don’t need him to have a reason for his chaotic nature and desire to see the world burn. Sorry, Joaquin, your acting was great, but that’s what makes Heath’s Joker the perfect one for me. Heath’s performance was silly without being goofy or tryhard, and it was chilling and made me nervous without it being rooted in mental illness as the source of the instability and unpredictability. Speaking of unpredictability, this movie was predictable AF. I saw literally everything coming from a mile away. Every turn, every step forward. Every goddamn choice of who to kill and not kill (my friend and her friend were surprised that he didn’t kill certain people, and I was like ?????????????).

And speaking of things that baffled me, the audience confused me because they....laughed....at parts that weren’t funny? And uh. I didn’t know whether to be mad because wow, yikes, the ableism jumped o u t (not even in terms of how they reacted to Arthur being “weird,” but the way they reacted to the character with dwarfism was Y I K E S), but also....way to...miss....what’s going on. Like............nothing about this movie was supposed to be funny. 

I also don’t know how I feel about how the movie portrayed Arthur because some people are saying it clearly shows how much a pathetic loser he is, and yeah, that’s true, but at the same time, it props him up so both sides have points. I think I’m more on the latter side in that I don’t think it went as far as it should have in explicitly and firmly stating that he’s pathetic (it would just go to a certain extent and that’s it, or it’d undermine the narrative). I don’t know how I feel about the way it supposedly “addresses” societal anxieties because it does expose issues we’re dealing with right now, although those issues aren’t anything new, but it does a pretty garbage job at doing so. The message was muddled. I’M SORRY, THE ENTIRE EFFING TIME I WAS WATCHING IT, I KEPT GETTING RILED UP BECAUSE IT TRIED SO HARD TO EMULATE TAXI DRIVER IN IMPACT, AESTHETIC, PLOT, COMMENTARY, ETC. AND IT COULDN’T EVEN GET NEAR THAT. This is making me so indignant on Marty’s behalf wthfdfklsdj.

Jk about feeling emotionless because IT WAS SO MEDIOCRE, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M OFFENDED BY ITS MEDIOCRITY. IT WAS SO BORING. THE PLOT WAS SO BORING. IT WAS TOO LONG. IT WAS SO SELF-SERVING AND TRYHARD. I SAW EVERYTHING COMING FROM A MILE AWAY. EVERYTHING.

[whattheheehaw]

Lately I've seen a lot of discourse on the Zutara fandom about the cultural mashing in the series but am I the only one who feels like it's ok? And yes there are parts of it than need to be criticized but I don't think people are focusing on the important ones. Maybe that's just me who knows?

My opinion on the cultural mashing in Avatar is somewhat mixed. On the one hand, I totally understand why some cultures had to be mashed together. I mean, Avatar takes place in a fictional universe after all, and many times fantasy worlds have certain things based on real-life cultures. But on the other hand, I don’t understand why Mike and Bryan made some specific culture combinations.

I mean, there’s some really small, minute things that kind of feel off for me. For example, I’m somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of basing the Fire Nation off of imperial Japan and imperial China and then having the geography and some cultural aspects of said nation resemble those of Southeast Asian countries. It’s easy to lump the cultures of many nations into one, especially if they’re roughly in the same geographic location. It’s not uncommon to see Japanese, Chinese, and Korean culture lumped together into one giant one, especially since Avatar is a Western cartoon, but it just... feels weird if you think about the broader historical context of this cultural mashing. I’m not saying that it’s ok for people to group different cultures under one giant umbrella, because every culture deserves to be respected on its own. But like, I’m not going to send Mike and Bryan to the electric chair for doing this. Media has a tendency to group certain cultures together, and at this point, I’m a little desensitized by it (which is quite sad if you think about it).

But then there’s the glaringly obvious cultural mashups that don’t make sense. Like, ok, I guess the Sun Warriors are based off of the ancient Maya civilization at least, I think it’s the Maya Empire. It could be Aztec. Or Inca. If someone knows, please enlighten me in Mesoamerica? And I’m just supposed to come to the conclusion that those guys started off with that kind of culture and then developed into pseudo-imperial Japan/imperial China? Yeah, I can’t really wrap my head around it.

And then there’s the Avatar lore itself. It’s just a hot mess. I mean, the basic principles of the four elements being air, water, earth, and fire is from Greek philosophy. If the showrunners really wanted to stick with traditional Chinese elements, they would have used air, water, wood, metal, and fire. So there’s that odd culture combination to think about. And then there’s the whole dragons and phoenixes being a part of the Fire Nation (I’m speculating about the phoenix part solely based on the fact that Ozai thought it was a cool idea). Now, I could see what Bryke and the other show writers were trying to go for by using dragons and phoenixes. Both mythical creatures are featured in Chinese mythology so using them in the show would be a cool nod to Chinese culture, right? WRONG. SO WRONG. IF ANYONE HAS THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER WAS DEVOID OF WHITE INFLUENCE, JUST BRING UP THE DRAGONS. 

I’m just—I get so pissed off when people say “look at the cool Chinese dragons in the show!” because they’re not Chinese dragons. Sure, the designs might be Asian inspired, but even then, that’s partially wrong because those dragons have wings. If you look at dragons from Chinese, Japanese, and Korean mythology, none of those dragons have wings and they don’t breathe fire. But you know what those Eastern dragons are closely related to? They’re usually associated with earth, sea, and sky. They’re typically seen as guardians of these realms. The concept of dragons being monsters and breathing fire developed in the West. When watching Avatar: The Last Airbender for the first time, I actually expected the first waterbenders to be dragons living at the bottom of a lake or something. But to my surprise, I found out that the moon and ocean spirits are represented as koi fish, which is...ok I guess? I mean, koi fish are typically shown as a representation of yin and yang/fire and water which works in the context of the show. And there are legends in which koi fish can become dragons, so like... it’s close? I think it would have been really cool if they included some sort of Inuit inspired mythos into the Avatar lore for the waterbenders because their whole aesthetic is based on the Inuit, but I digress. I just don’t like how they cherry-picked some design elements of an Eastern dragon and then decided to put all of these other characteristics on it that originated from the West, especially considering that there is no “West” equivalent in Avatar. Like, unless Maya mythology includes fire-breathing dragons, I don’t understand why the writers decided to make this decision.

And the concept of phoenixes in Avatar: The Last Airbender is somewhat weird too. Yes, they show up in Chinese legends, but to my knowledge, they don’t combust. Nor do they get reborn from their ashes (because they don’t combust). Chinese phoenixes are just... immortal. They’re the king of the birds. They just... live. And they symbolize peace, harmony, good fortune, etc. I think the whole concept of a bird combusting into flames and then resurrecting from their ashes comes from Egypt or Greece. So again, weird culture combo that doesn’t make much sense to me. Also the fact that phoenixes are supposed to be another representation of yin and yang with feng and huang really makes the idea of Ozai choosing the title of “Phoenix King” really amusing. Like, I guess he thinks that he’s the bringer of harmony to the four nations but that’s so funny to me. In some old Chinese legends, phoenixes were paired with dragons to represent yin and yang so in that context, phoenixes are female. So like... I guess Ozai is the leader of the feminist movement lmao. Also Ursa is definitely the dragon in this relationship; no I don’t take criticism.

Again, I want to reiterate that we shouldn’t burn people at the stake for writing their fantasy worlds based on a mix of different cultures. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be allowed to criticize when this happens. I’m grateful that there’s a piece of mainstream Western media that features parts of my Asian culture, even if it isn’t perfect or done in the most tasteful way. But I don’t like it when people just slap a “this show is good because of all this Asian rep” or finish watching the show thinking they know a lot about Asian culture, because this is, in a way, contributing to the mindset that there’s no real distinction between these cultures. They’re all just... Asian.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I was thinking about Nimue and critiques I’ve seen of her, and that I have as well, most of which revolve around her being seen as suffering a bit from Heroic Strong Female Lead. So, a bit shallow on depth of character, moments that strike one as unrealistic etc. etc. 

Anyway, ran across an older post that discusses the whole thing around female (and minority in general) power fantasies. And there was an addition that I think is super relevant: 

So, there’s this interesting thing where a certain degree of saturation in stories will train the audience to just accept stuff that’d normally strike them as bizarre or unrealistic, and move on without questioning it. It’s sort of like ‘willing suspension of disbelief’, except that phrasing doesn’t really encapsulate it precisely. It’s more like… commonality breeds acceptance.

For example, a humble young boy who rises to prominence and becomes a hero is such a standard piece of storytelling, that virtually no one ever sits down to watch a movie and actually goes ‘well, but, this is just a young farm lad - surely he can’t do a single thing to help stop the Forces of Evil!’ People in the movie might do that. But unless the audience is very, very young, or has somehow managed to avoid most books, movies, songs, comics, television shows, and oral traditions for the whole of their life, they’re going to sit down and think ‘ah yes, here’s our guy’.

Even though, in real life, it actually IS still pretty far-fetched for Ye Humble Village Lad to turn out to be the only thing standing between mankind and destruction.

The interesting thing, though, is that if you change enough elements of what is so common as to be thoughtlessly accepted, the image you present will no longer resemble the familiar narrative. Even if, below the surface, the other components are exactly the same.

This, along with the above-mentioned misogyny, is another contributing factor to the Mary Sue thing.

Because there are fewer female heroes who are just unabashed power fantasies, embodying unlikely rises to success or mastery of untold skills, if you take a very typical story that stars a dude and swap him out for a lady, the elements once rendered invisible by familiarity, are now noticeable again. The audience is jolted out of complacency, and begins to think more critically about what they’re being asked to believe. (You can accomplish the same thing with other demographics, too, i.e. putting characters of colour in roles typically given to white actors, or having LGBT+ characters with the same abundance as straight ones, and so on and so forth.)

So even people who like to think of themselves as totally fair and unprejudiced can end up enforcing double-standards in entertainment. Because if you don’t catch yourself, you will not even realize that you managed to sit through three Iron Man movies without ever questioning the premise of Tony Stark’s genius, but somehow Shuri in Black Panther just struck you as ‘unrealistic’.

[Full Post for reference] 

Because this is focused on Nimue, and not Arthur (or another knight of the round table, as we are generally used to seeing), those tropes around “strong leader finds magical item that secures their already clear right to leadership” and “humble to hero” are glaringly obvious. Had it been a show about Arthur, I’m not sure we’d have as much discussion around it. 

It’s something I also see in comparison to Weeping Monk | Lancelot who has considerably less character development than Nimue. All of his basically comes in 2/3 scenes in the ninth episode and 2/3 scenes in the finale. Compared to Nimue who we have gotten to know over the course of all 10 episodes. But I know I’ve raised his lack of depth as something that makes it hard for me to find him interesting and people have rebutted with “well no, i think he’s got plenty of depth/has got some characterization happening” etc. and that’s not supported really, by the show. 

The text, if we want to call the show that, demonstrates the opposite. This isn’t to say you can’t like or enjoy the Weeping Monk, it’s just to say there’s a reason his glaring lack of depth is brushed over while people spend time analyzing Nimue’s. And it’s because we’re used to seeing the Strong Silent Mysterious Male trope. In terms of villains with depth, Iris and Carden have more going on. But the Weeping Monk fits, in one degree, a power fantasy we’re used to seeing. 

In addition, compared to Nimue, Weeping monk is more of a blank slate which makes him easier to project onto. Which is half the point of how these unrealistic power fantasies work. Nimue allows that to a certain degree, she’s bland enough I think a lot of people could read themselves onto her. But she’s got just enough characterization, just enough back story, where she’s not a tabula rasa. 

Anyway, this show is really rife with moments where, as fans, we can catch ourselves doing that double standard of “why do we accept X for one character but not the same for another”. Obviously, with this show, in addition to gender there’s also race to consider. 

Just some thoughts. I’m not going anywhere in particular with them. 

[mittensmorgul]

I've just read through your previous ask about a yellow bathroom from S13 and some older color meta posts, but I'm wondering if you had any thoughts on the use of yellow specifically thus far in S15. You noted, "Which brings us to yellow (and also yellow and blue together, which have always been a warning sign on Supernatural… she says as she’s watching 9.01 and looking at Hael wearing a sulfur-yellow sweater over a dark blue dress. Those are the colors of Heaven and irresistible duty)." Con't..

So far what’s jumped out at me is Amara’s yellow pant suit, the girl tonight (avoiding spoilers bc timezones) wearing a yellow beret and tie-thing, and most glaringly, Dean’s yellow over shirt at the end. We never see him wearing yellow, certainly not that blatantly, or at least not that I remember. (My memory is unreliable) ‘Heaven and irresistible duty’ certainly fit, but I’m wondering if you have any new thoughts or anything else to add.

***

hello! And welcome to the continuation of the chat I initiated with you while trying to work out what exactly to say here. I’m copy/pasting my chat rambling here and then going forward from there…

(editing this, because tumblr borked the formatting when I posted it... thanks for that >.>)

the way Lilith’s clothes were coded in this episode were effectively a trap. SHE was effectively a trap, I mean Chuck had “written her into the episode” specifically to “seduce dean” after all… and she did that… wearing an outfit that ScREAMED Cas, so I want to put together something coherent for you before replying :’D

coinofstone Gotcha. Thank you for teaching out. I don’t generally follow color meta, someone pointed me to some of your #color and temp posts so I dug through a little before sending in the ask - Lilith’s comment about Chuck’s pervy obsession with Dean was a giant klaxon that made me think of Dean’s concerns about Cas too. But it’s also another “Hey remember Amara” moment

mittensmorgul yeah, and it’s a really good point

coinofstone Absolutely. I look forward to reading your post on this, once you’ve had time to digest and get it all written

mittensmorgul you mentioned the “duty to heaven” association with that mustard yellow/tan color, and that seems really relevant since Lilith’s entire presence there was in service to Chuck’s story, even as an unwilling participant in it, while Dean’s wrestling with his entire relationship to Cas, questioning if any of it was even real, since Cas’s mission originated as “Duty to Heaven” in saving him from Hell

mittensmorgul And I think all of this will become textual in 15.09, in Dean’s prayer to Cas…Foreshadowing! But not the kind Chuck’s writing…

mittensmorgul heck, I think I might just copy paste what I wrote to you here, and reply to your messages. I think I’ve worked out what I need to say

(and now that I have permission to post this, we can move on to why this is so interesting)

Lilith lampshaded herself as Chuck’s plot device, effectively. She was reenacting her own previous plot line from 4.18, seducing one of the brothers. Last time it was Sam, this time it was Dean. I’ve already posted something else about this tonight. She actively critiqued Chuck’s writing all along. She saw through Chuck’s story enough– even while she was a basically manufactured element of his story– to be self-aware of her own function within that story, as well as to point at other elements of the story and tell Dean “this is foreshadowing, isn’t it dull and predictable?”

She’s like… the opposite of Becky in 15.04.

Chuck basically BEGGED Becky to give him “notes” on his draft, and Becky had approached it in a fanfic-mindset of good faith, assuming Chuck was basically just writing fanfic as any human would. Lilith is self-aware, and knows the meta-plot. She knows she’s been placed there as a character in Chuck’s story, and she knows all about the story Chuck is trying to tell… and she HATES it.

She says she was given the choice of three vessels, and chose the one who’d apparently “picked the hardest road” for herself. She could’ve chosen one of the other girls, but this is the story that resonated with Lilith. Did she choose this, or did Chuck create her story out of whole cloth as even more foreshadowing, and with heavy references to the past when he’d done exactly the same thing with her? (rewriting her from a child into a “comely dental hygienist” when that suited the narrative he needed to tell?)

But that brings me back to Ashley/Lilith’s weird choice of clothing. Even back in the opening scenes in the tent, her two friends are dressed normally– t-shirts, like one might wear to sleep while camping. But Ashley… had the tie on. Scarf. Neckerchief. Whatever. She looked weirdly like she was trying to be a girl scout just because they’d been on a camping trip, you know? So, weird neckerchief. Which in this case looks both like Cas’s tie, AND Marie’s outfit in 10.05.

And Chuck told her, “not bad.”

Yeah, school uniforms for Marie and friends, but… Ashley/Lilith apparently chose this for herself, right down to the weird little beret.

Marie’s outfit was trimmed in this mustard color, but Lilith’s is just full-on mustard accessories.

Because Lilith was entirely self-aware through this entire episode that she was nothing more than Chuck’s plot device. She had no free will. She said repeatedly that she would’ve tortured and killed Sam and Dean both if she could, but she couldn’t, because she was entirely limited by what Chuck created her for within this episode. HOW FRUSTRATING, RIGHT?!

I guess, hence the perma-fake-tear visual of that wound on her cheek. Which was emphasized in the episode with her actual tears coursing over the cut.

This… was her chain. She could COMPLAIN about her role, she could complain about the stupidity of Chuck’s entire story. She could even laugh about his obvious asinine plot devices and foreshadowing– including her own incongruous appearance at this point in the story. But she was entirely bound by the construct Chuck created for her, and was unable to act outside of his plot.

Duty. Bound. And it’s tied right around her neck like a choker she can’t take off, in the color of duty to Heaven.

AND SHE WAS A DEMON, NOT AN ANGEL.

That doesn’t exempt her at all from being a pawn in Chuck’s narrative.

She even talked about her original purpose, to die for the original story, to free Lucifer, and her frustration that it was all for nothing. There was no grand purpose fulfilled because of her sacrifice. As far as she;s concerned, everything her entire existence was built around had been a lie. And she’s seen Chuck whole story for what it really is as a result of that. And yet here she is, playing another role for Chuck, in his unending narrative where he hopes maybe this time around things will work out to his liking. But it never will.

She also lampshaded the whole Free Will versus Destiny conundrum which we’ve been saying for years was the central theme of Supernatural since… forever. And pushed Dean to reiterate his stand on it– that he wouldn’t give it up, that he’d take all the bad he’d ever endured all over again, as long as he was making his own choices in his life. I’m not even sure that was what Chuck was going for here, or if Dean’s continued assertion of his own belief in free will was what broke Chuck’s hold over Lilith as a “character” here, and allowed her to begin voicing her critique of Chuck’s story, you know? If Dean had given in to her seduction, would she have ever been able to wrench free enough of Chuck’s written story to voice her own opinions of it? I like to think that Dean’s act of rebellion there changed the script, or allowed her to go “off script” enough to fill him in on some of the realities of Chuck’s interference.

But that remains to be seen. As far as Lilith goes, I think she was a construct for this episode… literally an agent of Chuck entirely created for the purposes of this episode as a test just as she was in 4.18. Was this the “real Lilith” brought from the Empty? Or just Chuck doing his thing and creating a story? How much can a writer really lie within the construct of his own disintegrating story?

[downspiral]

* / BPD ( borderline personality damon )

lil talk about damon’s behaviour, emotional patterns and mental health! i’m categorising this as a headcanon for simplicity’s sake but this is all based on canon material, whether unintentional or not i do genuinely think he has it in canon and will sort of be elaborating on why that’s clear to me. as a disclaimer none of this is meant to excuse any of his behaviour and hopefully it won’t come off that way either, but bpd and its associated stigma is a personal topic to me, so please go in with sympathy and an open mind. under the cut bc this could get lengthy!

so to start off with i’ll just briefly explain borderline personality disorder (BPD) for people unfamiliar with it— it’s a mood disorder that has many associated symptoms with various mental illnesses like depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, as well as substance issues, eating disorders and other personality disorders eg. antisocial or narcissistic personality disorder. it’s classed by four groups of symptoms:

emotional instability

disturbed patterns of thinking or perception

impulsive behaviour

intense but unstable relationships with others

( obviously this definition is too broad for any specific diagnosis, since everyone is different, and can’t be used alone to diagnose someone without ruling out other disorders and subjective opinion of a professional who knows enough about your behaviours to make an assessment, so from here on out i’m going to be drawing on my own experiences, and hopefully i’ll be able to articulate it in a way that makes sense, but please let me know if it doesn’t. )

***

the first and most glaringly obvious identifiers of this where damon is concerned in my opinion is a), his tendency to spiral very suddenly and abruptly after even minor triggers, such as failure, rejection or even just feeling insulted by someone he cares about, and b) his frequent impulsive behaviour, and what might be termed a lack of self-control in following those impulses - the first examples that come to mind would be his leaving for a road trip with katherine despite hating her, or killing jeremy because he was the first person he saw after feeling rejected by elena - and as he later admitted honestly, not knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent. 

so starting with a), his irrational spiralling — i’ll preface this by saying that in my own experience, my initial diagnosis where my therapist suggested BPD as a possibility was immediately after i told her that i felt my emotions were just more severe than most people’s, which is why i always felt i was overreacting to things, both bad and good, alternating with feelings of extreme numbness and dissociation which would follow immediately after as a coping method. bouncing between extremes of emotion is also something we see damon do constantly; not regarding the humanity switch detail and focusing solely on his ‘humanity-on’ behaviour, we still see him go between extremely cold, numb and uncaring (albeit often this is hidden behind deflection and humor) to deeply hurt, loving, and willing to make huge sacrifices for causes or for people. 

this is also a little muddled by the in-world lore of vampires having very heightened emotions. if you consider that damon already had BPD while a human, which is highly plausible given what we see of the decisions he made even then, then it follows that as a vampire those already-dysfunctional behaviours would be driven to extremes. this isn’t only obvious to the person watching; other characters comment on it constantly, e.g. almost any time katherine shows up, everyone immediately starts worrying if damon’s going to snap, having learned that the tiniest of things can send him into extreme behaviour, harmful to both himself - picking a fight with julian out in the open, described as having a death wish, and various suicide missions - and other people - e.g. attempting to kill jeremy and bonnie, despite it being abundantly clear that those two murders would make everything worse for him, and logically, make no sense, and serve no benefit to him. they were not thought-out decisions, not premeditated, and not something he would do in a sound state of mind, which is part of why they’re so painful to watch - they’re stupid, unjustified decisions, and seem irrational and disproportionate to whatever triggered him to make them. this also falls into the category of ‘lashing out’, something damon is frequently noted to do - often in the form of destroying or severing relationships, which may be done via simple purposeful negative interaction with someone, or doing more, genuine harm so that those relationships are ended regardless. 

this ties in both with the impulsive behaviour aspect, but also a comment elena once made which struck a huge chord with me as an identifier of BPD - she said he felt that everyone hated him, and in an attempt to face those perceptions or correct them as someone of sound mind would do, he instead tries to come to terms with the pain of that by making himself believe that they were right - ‘proving’ both to others and to himself that they were right to hate him, via doing bad things. while this particular incident was partially due to enzo’s influence and damon seeking approval from the only person he felt he could still get it from, he still had the agency to make that decision, and this wasn’t the only time where that behavioural pattern could be observed. 

the depth to which those thought processes go can sort of be seen when you consider season 8, where enzo and damon were both under the mind control of a siren, leaving only their subconscious with free will to resist. enzo’s instinct was to try and weave messages into the things that the siren had him do, knowing that bonnie would recognise them and be able to save him from doing more harm. on the other hand, damon’s instinct was to sever those relationships so completely that none of them would ever attempt to save him again, thus keeping them, in his eyes, out of harm’s way. 

i don’t wanna make this so long it’s unreadable so i’ll try and end it with this last point, which is that another symptom of BPD is latching on to one particular person - whoever might feel most significant to them at the time, whether a friend or romantic interest, though often those feelings can combine and become confused when that emotional connection is made (most obvious example being elena, who damon had a relatively good and stable friendship with, that seemingly functioned fine as it was, yet progressed into romance anyway and became destructive). when that said person is found, the intensity of your emotion leads to a usually unhealthy amount of attachment on your part - often leading to possessive, manipulative or even emotionally abusive elements of relationships that more often than not become toxic. this person becomes the sole way that you feel validation/love/approval/happiness, any good emotion at all - in a way, your brain compensates for previous and more significant traumas, e.g. parental abuse/neglect, by channelling all this emotion into the nearest outlet of love and acceptance you can find. as a result even the tiniest fraction of attention or approval from that person can completely brighten your mental state for weeks, while the tiniest perception of disapproval or neglect from them - note perception, this could be something as miniscule as a misunderstanding, a tone being read wrong in a text, a genuine mistake being interpreted as a deliberate attempt to separate - can be enough to drive you to suicidal ideation. 

obviously, whether it’s known to them or not, all this puts an unrealistic amount of expectation on the other person - one individual cannot possibly be responsible for the entire mental state of another, and will often - quite rightly - lead to the decision to end the relationship out of self-preservation. this is observed very frequently with damon’s close relationships; at some point, most of the people he’s been closest to have, with some degree of regret, been forced to write him off, because he puts too much strain on their own mental state. without significant effort to change on the part of the disordered person, sadly, this situation doesn’t usually have a resolution, because one’s own mental health is never the sole responsibility of others. it’s worth saying that most of these behaviours are done unintentionally and instinctively, as what seems the first logical conclusion in a brain that has been wired - physically, neurons and pathways in the brain have been grown by trauma that leads to those paths becoming the ‘right’ ones, rather than the healthy alternatives, which is usually what therapy’s end goal is - minimising the disordered pathways while reinforcing the positive ones, via practice of healthy behaviours and identifying bad thought processes so they can be stopped with the hope that those ones will take priority eventually. that being said, decisions that are motivated by and followed by, self-hatred, doesn’t excuse them from the harm they may cause other people. and it’s not fair - none of it is, because immediately what that situation seems to become is, ‘i didn’t ask to be this way, i don’t want to be harmful, but because i have been traumatised this is how i turned out, and now if i want healthy and good relationships, i have to work twice as hard against all my natural instincts just to ensure i come off as a person worth caring about’. 

this is getting a little off-topic, but to say - there is a stigma about BPD, often associated with emotional abuse and manipulation, and it’s too complex a topic to sum up in one paragraph, but the gist of it is that sadly in my experience there is truth to it. i feel as though my disorder increases the likelihood of me being harmful, which means i have to work twice as hard to stop it - things that seem like common sense, basic decency, human logic that comes naturally and as first instinct to many, have to be actively strived for by people with this particular disorder. so while failing to do so may happen more for those people, and thus lead to them coming off as a worse person, there is some explanation as to why - and of course that doesn’t mean excusing that behaviour, never! but, there is a grey area between ‘excusing and enabling unhealthy behaviour’ and ‘your disability grants you no leeway whatsoever’. there is a middle ground and it’s hard to find the right place to walk it, and probably differs for everyone, but for me that’s why damon is relatable, and why i think i have more tolerance for things that he’s done. 

i’ll just end this by saying that this is all one person’s experience of bpd and what i’ve observed from a few others i’ve known. i don’t speak for everyone with bpd, it’s not my call to make, mental disorder is overwhelmingly complex and hotly debated even in medical circles. but all that being said, i have recognised a lot of my own emotional experiences in damon’s and how the characters around him react to it (without the murder, obviously) and to me it is slightly more complex than ‘this is a shitty person’. thank you for reading all this if you did, it’s kind of hard to talk about, but hopefully for some this adds a little more insight into my portrayal and attachment to the character. 

[journalxxx]

And They Rested on the Seventh Day

[I read the Good Omens book and watched the Amazon series, and enjoyed both a great deal: however, this story doesn't strictly follow the canon or characterizations of either. It's a bit of a mix of the things I liked the most from both versions (for clarity, this considers basically the plot and ending from the book + few selected elements from the tv series. Also Tennant. Definitely Tennant), topped with purely made-up bits of headcanon and character interpretation. The final result is that it’ll probably feel full of inconsistencies and OOC moments, but oh well. I had to take a few ideas off my head.]

To think that it had all started as a hobby of sorts. A wild bet on and against himself, just for the fun of it. 

Crowley hadn't thought much of the job he'd done in the Garden of Eden, at first. To be fair, he was still convinced that most of the responsibility for that big mishap fell on God Herself and Her inexplicable - pardon, ineffable - decision to dangle juicy bits of edible forbidden knowledge right in front of people who had literally been born yesterday. Honestly, what else could have happened? Crowley was sure one of the two humans would have given in to curiosity anyway, sooner or later: his intervention had simply sped up the process.

But Crowley’s superiors had been positively enthusiastic about it. God’s new and supposedly best creations, twisted and corrupted and exiled in less than a week since the beginning of the world? An astonishing success for the dark forces, they had said, very well done Crawly, you shall hereby be hailed as The Tempter (a title that would be handed out very freely in the centuries to come, in fact, since he had basically invented a whole new and very busy line of work for the entire Underworld). They had been so keen on putting his supposed talents of persuasion to good use that they had assigned him on permanent Earth surveillance duty, keeping an eye on things and easing the slippery slope of other innocent souls to the abyss. A simple enough job, he thought, and he wasn’t at all displeased with the idea of spending most of his time away from Hell. The place was, well, hellish.

He had been quite surprised to meet the Guardian of the Eastern Gate there as well, apparently tending to the exact opposite task as Crowley’s. What were the odds, uh? But in Aziraphale’s case, Crowley couldn’t help but feel that the new office was meant more as a demotion rather than as a reward. The angel didn’t seem exactly… suited to field work, so to speak. He was definitely the kind of guy who’d deal better with paperwork or with performing celestial harmonies or with whatever those guys up there got up to, these days - rather than with acting as an incognito emissary of the Light. He was simply too soft-hearted. It clearly pained him to witness the daily struggles of mankind without being able to relieve them, if not in a very roundabout and indirect way. He would have gladly handed out miracles and blessings as promptly as he had relinquished his flaming sword, Crowley thought, if he hadn’t directly been ordered to stick to spreading ‘positive influence’. 

He was a queer one, Aziraphale, but overall rather amusing to have around. And after the first mostly accidental meetings, Crowley had started to notice several very, very interesting things about him. 

First of all, the angel was a sinner. And a rather nonchalant one too.

The first sin Crowley noticed was pride. Now, pride was objectively quite intrinsic to all angelic beings, to some extent, with their perpetual holier-than-thou attitude and their unbending illusion of absolute righteousness. Aziraphale wasn’t an exception. He could have very well avoided Crowley, if he really thought so lowly of him and his shady dealings, but he didn’t. He met him, he primly and oh so very graciously tolerated his company, he pointedly corrected his faulty views on creation and the universe with the self-satisfied attitude of a conceited schoolmaster. It made Crowley’s skin, well, crawl. And he had this ridiculous habit of pointing out, at randomly fitting points during any discussion, that he, Aziraphale, was an angel and he, Crowley, was a demon, and therefore blah blah. He did that really often, inexplicably so. It wasn’t like either of them was going to forget what they were, after all. And it wasn’t like he needed to repeat that at frequent intervals to make sure that some undefined and distracted external audience was aware of their standing in the universe either. It was just plainly dumb and irritating. Crowley had taken to address him as ‘angel’ more often than with his proper name, out of sheer sarcasm. Sadly Aziraphale hadn’t taken particular notice.

Another very glaring sin Aziraphale keenly committed was gluttony. Oh, what a glutton he was. The first time Crowley had met him ‘socially’, he had been astounded to notice that Aziraphale actually ate. If his body was anything like Crowley’s, and Crowley was sure it was, it was conveniently free from most of the intentional design flaws God had installed on humans after Adam and Eve’s escape, such as illness, hunger and tiredness. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley needed any sustenance or sleep (although Crowley had quickly taken a liking to the latter activity - but he was a demon, Aziraphale would have pointed out with his most slappable face, so he was allowed as many indulgences as he wanted). Even the most gluttonous human had some sort of excuse, what with needing to eat to survive and, while one was at it, he may as well do it decently, to build the temple of his body in the best possible way and so on and so forth. It was a very flimsy and poor excuse, considering the sort of folks who usually resorted to it, but humans clung to such moralistic drivel like limpets. Aziraphale didn’t even have that tiny pretext on his side. He ate (and drank) without any need to, and he did it often and with much gusto, out of sheer pleasure. If that wasn’t the epitome of gluttony, Crowley was an anteater.

And, after a few centuries, a hint of greed began to emerge too. It was a very specific sort, aimed at very specific material possessions, namely those that had to do with writing. Aziraphale had been inordinately proud when humans had begun to carve their funny little thoughts and grocery lists on very impractical clay tablets, he had called it a revolutionary intuition, surely sparked by divine goodwill. Crowley’s reaction had been more along the lines of a whole-body shrug. Aziraphale was fond of reading and, when it became possible, he even started collecting reading material. Papyrus, parchments, scrolls, anything he could find. When books started to become a thing, the angel ogled them like misguided shepherds ogled golden calves. He acquired them very sparingly and with a trace of guilt at first, when books were rare and their production was lengthy and expensive and holding onto some tomes for his own personal enjoyment effectively diminished the amount of knowledge available to the world at large. But after the press was invented, oooh boy. Yes, the excessive and self-serving accumulation of literary material goods was definitely among Aziraphale’s faults.

But that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

In fact, for all his preaching and sternly-worded proclamations of faith, Aziraphale had perplexities. That much was glaringly obvious. Ineffability perplexed him, even though he unerringly presented it as the ultimate argument against Crowley’s own perplexities, whenever they ventured to discuss celestial politics. It had been perplexing him, at least to a certain extent, since the apple incident, Crowley was sure of that. And that was odd in itself. Crowley had believed that, after the Rebellion, Heaven had been purged of any angelic creature who wasn’t a hundred percent committed and trusting in God’s cause, but Aziraphale seemed troubled to a visible degree, at times. Crowley had known Aziraphale only very superficially before falling, and he couldn’t quite say if his doubts were a recent development or not.

So, a peculiar idea started to slither in the corners of Crowley’s oft bored mind.

What if, he thought, what if I could make this angel fall?

The premises for the evil deed were all there. Aziraphale already committed almost half of the deadly sins of his own accord, whether he knew it or not. And he had reservations, however intimate and rationalized, about God’s plan. That was all it had taken for Crowley himself to fall, after all. Just a couple of reservations and hanging around the wrong people. Crowley could provide both of those factors very easily.

It was, admittedly, mere speculation. Crowley wasn’t even sure it was possible for angels to fall after the Rebellion - something had seriously shifted in the balance of the universe back then, everyone had noticed. But the concept was absurdly inviting. Who else, after all, aside from the Morning Star Himself, could boast coaxing angels into corruption? It would be a stunning accomplishment in any demon’s curriculum, wouldn’t it? Forget about apples and tempting feeble human minds, that would be real bragging material. The more he thought about it, the stronger the itch got. In addition, despite his earlier doubts, Crowley had discovered himself quite naturally adept to that whole temptation business. He had thought his success with Eve a bit of a fluke, born of very favorable circumstances: deep down she already wanted that fruit, and so did her companion. They were already leaning towards disobedience, and all Crowley himself had to do was just to give the both of them a little nudge in that direction.

But then, he had found out that that principle was valid for all humans. Every human, literally every one of them, was inevitably attracted to Evil, at least a little bit. In some cases he had to resort to some delicate manoeuvres and subtle approaches to nurture that twisted tendency, in others he simply had to knock on an open door. A very easy and straightforward job, indeed.

But would it be that easy with a full-fledged angel? Presumably not. How should he go about it, then? He supposed that approaching Aziraphale with a rapid fire of existential questioning would be slightly too on the nose. Besides, ineffability. How did you even question that? It’s a brick wall of suspended disbelief and logic denial. No, theology speculations weren’t the right answer, only the most mind-numbingly boring one.

Crowley decided to roll up his sleeves and start with the basics. Adding the remaining deadly sins on Aziraphale’s list of misconducts would be a solid start, he deliberated. Whittling away at a soul’s integrity bit by bit was all the rage back then, in terms of temptation tactics. He’d slowly erode the angel’s rectitude as if he was your average human, and then he’d see where he could go from there. And he would take it nice and easy, spreading his influence over centuries, millennia if necessary. He wouldn’t risk ruining his chances by revealing his hand too soon. He had picked the most promising one among the four remaining sins, and he had started plotting.

He could still remember the indescribable sensation he had felt when he had succeeded, sometime around 1000 AD. It had indeed taken centuries of discreet suggestions and proposals, refuted firmly and scornfully at first, but with less and less passion over time, until Aziraphale had finally given in to the Arrangement, with nothing more than a curt and tense nod. Crowley had offered his assistance first, obviously. He was already about to head to Byzantium to tend to his own business, so he thought he may as well take care of Aziraphale’s too. Just an innocent favour, free of charge. Obviously, if for fairness’ sake the angel felt like returning said favour in the future, Crowley’d be obliged, but really, no pressure whatsoever. 

Unexpectedly, unlike all the previous times, the angel had accepted. It felt like a minor victory in itself, even though it was only the first step. Naturally Aziraphale followed him, although not quite as discreetly as he thought. And he followed Crowley the next time as well, and the third- the third he didn’t. 

Now, that felt like a triumph. Crowley’s skin had begun to tingle in sheer excitement when he had ascertained that the third time he had offered his assistance to Aziraphale, the angel had simply trusted him to carry out the task as requested. Not that Crowley wanted or could avoid doing what he’d been asked - their respective head offices may be careless about smaller details, but they were fond of keeping scores. If the holy work hadn’t been performed, Heaven would have noticed, therefore Aziraphale would have been reprimanded, and Crowley would have lost that hard-earned trust. What was notable, however, was that it had taken only two trips for the angel to trust completely a demon to perform honest, divine work. It was foolish of Aziraphale not to check that he would, it was lazy of him not to perform the job himself, as he’d been ordered, as he’d undoubtedly report he had. It was deception to his superiors, it was negligence, but more importantly, it was sloth.

It was a heady rush of adrenaline after a long period of forced calm, the kind of exhilaration a skilled hunter feels after waiting for hours - centuries, in that case - for the prey to fall into an aptly placed trap. It was indeed possible to tempt an angel, and he, Crowley the Tempter, the Snake of Eden, had managed to do it. It was riveting. That sensation of well-earned success alone would have been enough to brighten his days and put a spring in his step for the next century, but the best was yet to come, and it was something Crowley wasn’t even planning of.

He had been joking when he had suggested that Aziraphale should be the one to carry out the next bunch of long-distance duties for the both of them. He wasn’t expecting him to accept by a long shot, definitely not so soon at least - but he did. Sheepishly and uncomfortably, Aziraphale had listened to Crowley’s instructions and headed off with a half-muttered promise to ‘see what he could do’. That was a surprise, although Crowley didn’t believe for one second that he would see the job done. An angel (and not just any angel, Aziraphale), doing Satan’s work? What a joke. He’d chicken out of it before dawn, for sure, and either later inform Crowley that he had met with obstacles, or pretend to have forgotten about the whole conversation. And indeed, after seeing neither hide nor hair of the angel for the next month, Crowley assumed Aziraphale had just done that. The demon had then made the hundred-kilometre trip to take care of the business personally, only to find the couple of married lovers (married to other people, that is) already in the throes of the deep reciprocal passion that had been haunting them for the past three years, their families in turmoil and their small town in the middle of nowhere now enjoying the best bout of spicy gossip since that peculiar incident with the shepherd and his sheep forty years earlier.

Crowley was absolutely flabbergasted. That was much, much better than he’d even dared to expect. He felt like he’d basically already done it. It was going to work. If it had taken so little effort to convince an angel to tempt humans instead of blessing them, it was only a matter of time before Aziraphale eventually succumbed completely to Crowley’s scheme. Only a matter of time! He’d keep working on it, slowly and patiently, in a world that would soon start moving forward at an increasing and unimaginable pace, treating Aziraphale like his personal pet project, tackling one sin at a time. What was left? Lust, envy, wrath - oof, wrath was going to be a tough one, wasn’t it? The strongest negative emotion he’d ever seen Aziraphale display was ‘mildly peeved’ - but it would definitely, definitely work. He wouldn’t rush it, he’d wait for the perfect occasion to land in his lap and he’d seize it, to drag the angel to ruin in careful, calculated steps.

That night Crowley had gotten fantastically, gloriously, immeasurably drunk, and had dragged literally the entire village into his personal celebration, thanks to the inexplicable appearance of a good dozen abandoned carts on the main road, filled with jugs of excellent wine from the local vineyards. The huge, impromptu party that followed would have put Bacchus himself to shame, and it provided the village spinsters with enough gossip about the many depraved deeds that had been consumed on that night for the next 378 years, give or take.

That was roughly a thousand years ago.

Funny, Crowley thought as he was sprawled on an unimportant bench in an unimportant road of Lower Tadfield, Oxfordshire, feeling and looking like a puppet with cut strings. Funny, Crowley thought as he was looking up into the cloudless and starry sky of a world that hadn’t ended, how much things can change in just a thousand years.

Aziraphale stood up when two round headlights appeared at the end of the road, and glanced curiously at Crowley when he didn’t do the same. Slowly, with immense effort and groaning like a metal crane bent by a gigantic hand, Crowley gathered his strewn limbs and rearranged them vertically as well. The angel and the demon climbed on a bus that wasn’t going to Oxford, walked past an unresponsive conductor that wasn’t asking for tickets, and spent most of the trip sharing a bottle of wine whose quality vastly outmatched its price tag and whose capacity had long since exceeded the promised 750 millilitres.

The repetitive scenery of the the dark English countryside let Crowley’s mind wander back into the past. It occurred to him that it had been roughly 600 years since the last time Aziraphale had set foot into his house. You could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the angel had ever accepted to visit his ‘den of iniquity’ (Aziraphale’s words, c. 310 AD), and always very briefly. They had always preferred meeting in public venues anyway, until Crowley had decided that Aziraphale’s bookshop definitely counted as one and had taken the habit of dropping by for the occasional drink. 

The invitation had slipped out of Crowley’s mouth easily, unthinkingly, while they were waiting for the bus. And, honestly, how could he not offer hospitality in such circumstances? All of the angel’s earthly possessions, including his very house, had gone up in flames. What was Crowley supposed to do, let him go to a random public bathroom, lock himself into a cubicle and miracle the inside of it into Croesus’ mansion? Seriously. Just because he was a demon, it didn’t mean he was utterly uncivil. Still, Aziraphale had taken up on Crowley’s suggestion with less hesitation that he’d expected. At that point, all Crowley could do was hoping that Hell hadn’t sent reinforcements after Hastur and Ligur’s failed attempt at ‘collecting’ him, and an apartment to invite Aziraphale into still existed in the first place... Oh, well. Worst case scenario, they’d hijack two cubicles.

“How long do you think we have,” Aziraphale said quietly, interrupting the disorganized flow of Crowley’s thoughts, “before they’ll decide to come after us?”

“Heaven and Hell, you mean?” Crowley answered slowly, syllables sticking to his tongue. “I don’t know, a while. I bet they have some serious internal mess to deal with first. Disappointed warmongers and whatnot. Bigger priorities than us.”

“But they will sort that out eventually.” Aziraphale stretched his arm towards Crowley, hand open in a muted request for the bottle. “And then what? I doubt they’ll leave any rogue agents be.”

“....Eh. They might, you know? The kid- whoops.” Crowley let go of the bottle when he felt Aziraphale’s fingers brush his own, but the glass slipped from both their grasps. Aziraphale blinked, and the bottle froze in midair a few centimetres above the floor. He calmly bent down to fetch it as Crowley continued. “The kid told us not to worry.”

“But do you think he has the power to grant us protection from both Reigns?”

Crowley shrugged. “He’s the boss’ son. And he just stopped the bloody apocalypse, if you haven’t noticed. He has power, all right. That’s good enough insurance for me.”

Aziraphale hummed pensively, his gaze lost out of the window. Crowley watched him take a measured sip, and then clean distractly the neck of the bottle with a handkerchief. His movements were quiet, harmonious, steady. Everything about Aziraphale was, and always had been. Crowley’s whole, brilliant temptation plan was centered on the expectation that sins would change his angelic nature, that they would change him. Instead, what had happened was the exact opposite. As the decades and centuries went by, as their meetings grew less and less ‘business’ oriented and turned into genuine divertissement, Aziraphale wasn’t changed by the sins: the sins were changed by him. A tasty nibble of food wasn’t a temptation any more, but a moment of genuine appreciation for the little, blessed pleasures God still allowed mortals to experience. His elegantly-worded notions about the order of the universe ceased to be a prideful display of superiority, and instead became an engaging debate capable of building dialogue between spiritual opposites. His love for books wasn’t a selfish desire of accumulation for accumulation’s sake, but an intellectual connection to the history and minds of the humans he was meant to protect, from all times and cultures. His acceptance to share duties with a demon wasn’t sheer laziness, but a very tangible olive branch offered to a former sworn enemy. Deeds that would have tarnished any human soul, made it revolting and beyond repair, hadn’t even dented the core of Aziraphale’s goodness. If anything, they had enriched it: like the light patina of a vintage Bentley, those sins adorned Aziraphale’s very soul like unique and distinguishing traits, all the more intriguing to a discerning eye.

And the most baffling thing was that Crowley hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t noticed that his plan, ostensibly always in motion and always waiting, waiting, waiting for the next occasion to move further, was gradually being shoved into the most forgetful corners of his mind. He hadn’t noticed he’d stopped plotting against his enemy, and had instead started just coexisting with him. It had taken him so goddamn long to notice he’d stopped considering Aziraphale as an inconvenient obstacle to be removed from the world Crowley was meant to submit, but that the angel had rather become one of its most interesting and worthwhile features.

It had taken him until the end of the world to realize that.

As it turned out, Crowley’s flat hadn’t been obliterated by the forces of Hell. Yet.

“Make yourself at home.” Crowley said as he jogged from room to room to make sure there were no former colleagues of his lying in wait anywhere.

“This is where you live?” Aziraphale asked, peeking curiously from the entryway. Crowley interrupted his inspection just to make a face.

“Oh no, I’m just appropriating the humble abode of a millionaire manager perished in the latest fish tornado. He won’t need it anymore, will he?” Aziraphale gave him a dubious glance. Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, this is where I live. What kind of question is that, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, you know, just wondering.” Aziraphale answered, visibly relieved. “I wasn’t really expecting your home to look like this.”

“And why not?”

“Well, it’s… rather neat and minimalistic.” Aziraphale hesitated. “It almost reminds me of the Upper Offices. Although it is quite darker, I suppose.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale pointedly. Deafening silence was the only appropriate reply to such a statement, so he let it stretch leisurely until Aziraphale couldn’t help but look away.

“Are you going to come in anytime soon or…?” Crowley eventually said, gesturing around vaguely.

“Yes. Thank you.” The angel finally unstuck from the threshold and followed Crowley into the study. “I really appreciate your hospitality, by the way. I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow, I’m sure it won’t be hard to find a nice spot for me to move in.”

“Oh, no rush. I barely use this place.” Crowley waved at him dismissively, his attention suddenly caught by the ansaphone. It wasn’t blinking exactly as he had left it. It definitely should be blinking exactly as he had left it. “Uh, right, the bedroom’s over there. If you don’t feel like sleeping, there’s the…” There was the tv, which Aziraphale hardly ever watched. There was the computer, which surely he didn’t even know how to plug in. There was the hi-fi, boasting an impressive collection of contemporary artists 95% of which the angel probably had never heard of. It suddenly occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale wasn’t the easiest guest to entertain.

“You don’t happen to have any books lying around, I suppose.”

Crowley shrugged. “‘Fraid not. But there’s some food in the fridge, if you want.” He offered lamely.

“Oh. Thank you, but I think I’ll be catching some sleep tonight as well.” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t had a day as intense as this one in a long while. It takes a toll on you even when you’re indefatigable.”

“You’re telling me.” Crowley mumbled, watching Aziraphale head off into the corridor. He waited until his guest was reasonably far from the study before checking the new recorded message. He regretted it very quickly.

“What’s that?” Aziraphale inquired loudly, when the unmistakable noise of demonic torment and horrified screams erupted from the speakers. Crowley hurried to silence it with some chaotic button-mashing and removed the cassette from the machine. A single, fat worm fell from the tape. 

“Ugh.” Crowley grimaced, shoving the whole device into the trash can. All right, his mistake. He should have dealt with Hastur when he had the chance. But then again, what was one more demon free out there wanting him dead when he had already earned the eternal grudge of both Heaven and Hell? “Nothing. Nothing to be worried about.”

“That definitely sounded like something to be worried about.” Aziraphale insisted, rather alarmed. 

“Nah, just prank calls. I really need to find out who invented them and offer them a drink, now that’s some first-calls deviousness-” Crowley hurried to the bedroom before Aziraphale could decide to investigate the matter personally, and stopped abruptly when he saw the angel sitting innocently on his bed. “Uh. That’s my bed.” He felt it was important to state that fact aloud.

“Yes, I gathered. Excellent mattress, I must say.” Aziraphale replied genially, until Crowley’s silence prompted him to stand up hastily. “Oh, sorry, you pointed me to the bedroom and I thought you meant I could…?”

“No! I meant that you could make yourself a bed and get settled!”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, I just thought…” Aziraphale paused, looking at the object of the argument confusedly. “It’s a very large bed though. It looks like four people could sleep comfortably on it, so I thought-”

“I roll around a lot when I sleep, all right?” Crowley retorted with anger, with tangible and very obvious anger, and with absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever. “Look, just- miracle yourself some furniture, here or wherever you want, or sleep on the sofa, or anywhere that isn’t my bed.”

“All right, all right!” Aziraphale frowned and raised his hands defensively. “I’ll take the sofa then.”

Crowley collapsed face-first on his reconquered berth as soon as Aziraphale left the room, his sunglasses conveniently teleporting to the bedside table before they could bore into his skull. He felt positively destroyed. He’d give anything for another century-long nap, he hadn’t had one of those in a while. But it would be rather imprudent in the current circumstances. He’d have to make do with a dozen hours. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, welcoming that exquisitely human sense of physical relaxation that came with dozing off. He let the beginnings of sleep dull his senses and his mind, sweetly and mercifully-

“My, such luxuriant foliage…” 

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. “NO!” He bellowed, hurling himself off the bed and into the corridor with barely enough coordination not to trip on his own feet. “Stop it! Shut up!”

“What-” Aziraphale startled as Crowley suddenly appeared before him, arms spread in a clear effort to physically separate him from the potted greenery. “W-What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Leave the plants alone. Don’t look at them. And above all don’t talk to them.” Crowley ordered as he grasped the angel’s shoulders and steered him bodily out of the room.

“But why? I was just admiring the-”

“There’s nothing to admire here. Everyone’s just doing what they’re supposed to do.”

“But-”

“My house, my rules. The plants are off-limits.” Crowley snapped his fingers and two robust metallic doors materialized out of thin air to seal the area from the rest of the house. Crowley shoved Aziraphale past them, while he lingered on the threshold just long enough to glare at every single plant in the room.

“Don’t forget whose opinion really matters here, guys.” He hissed, his teeth bared. His warning was met with a collective, deferential shudder. 

“...Crowley, are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing him worriedly. Crowley looked at him like a naked Bedouin sitting on a glacier in the Arctic might look at someone asking him if he’s cold. The doors locked with an audible clang.

“...Yeah, I’m just peachy.” He eventually muttered, rubbing his eyes and heading back to the bedroom. He lay down again and closed his eyes, enjoying a grand total of ten second of peace before Aziraphale’s footsteps reached the room. Crowley sighed. “...What?”

“Actually, I think I would like to sleep here, if it’s all right with you.”

“Do whatever you want.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind-”

“What do you think ‘do whatever you want’ means, Aziraphale?”

“I’m guessing it means that I have free reign over any part of your house that doesn’t include your bed or your plants.” 

Aziraphale’s miffed tone got the tiniest smile out of him. “Yep, you got it. See? Wasn’t difficult.”

Crowley felt reality shift around him. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked to the side. The bedroom had conveniently enlarged just enough so that Aziraphale’s newly created bed could fit. It was a small, single one, all wood and fin de siecle linens and puffy pillows and creamy tones. It clashed with the existing decor something terrible, but Crowley barely took notice. He was more concerned with its owner, sitting somewhat rigidly on it and glancing around the room nervously. Suddenly Crowley understood why he’d chosen to sleep there.

“Relax, angel. No one will be coming after us.” Crowley couldn’t help but offer, lowly. “Not tonight, at least.”

Their eyes met. After a beat, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. You are probably right.”

Aziraphale was still sitting up when Crowley closed his eyes. He hoped that the other could catch some rest, but he wouldn’t mind too much if he didn’t. Even a demon could use a guardian angel to watch over his sleep, after all.

Aziraphale did sleep that night, for a good two hours and a half. It may not sound like a lot, but considering that he hadn’t rested since that quick twenty-minute nap in 1732, it felt immensely refreshing anyway. Upon rising, he had to admit that creating his own bed had proven to be a wise choice: in his sleep, Crowley had somehow managed to scatter his considerably long limbs all over the mattress, effectively covering a flat surface that must be at least three times as large as that of his own body. Admittedly he looked quite endearing, arms and legs making a decent impression of a windrose and snoring away with his mouth open.

Aziraphale spent the rest of the night keeping himself quietly busy. He checked all the news from the radio and the tv, from which he gathered that Adam was mending reality with impressive speed and ease, considering how suddenly his powers had bloomed. It was truly a blessing that the boy was far more mature than anyone had credited him for. To think that Aziraphale himself had seriously entertained the notion of eliminating him… No, that guilt wasn’t going to leave him anytime soon.

The angel then proceeded to tidy up what little there was to tidy up in Crowley’s apartment. Some spilt water here and there, and a ragged, dark set of clothes oddly abandoned on the threshold of the study. They didn’t look like the type of get-up Crowley would choose for himself, and it certainly wasn’t one Aziraphale had ever seen him wear, but then again the demon had a thing for experimenting with mortal fashion. Aziraphale also repeatedly wrestled with the impulse to take another look at Crowley’s plants, entirely because of his exceedingly suspicious behavior. He didn’t do it, though. That would have been extremely impolite, almost traitorous. Utterly unworthy of his status. Although- no. No, he wouldn’t.

He even managed to find a few books, tucked away under the sofa or on top of unreachable shelves. They were atlases, maps, photography magazines, all focussed on naturalistic topics: pictures of panoramas from all over the world, animals, plants, even remote stars and galaxies. Aziraphale wasn’t an especially avid consumer of such publications: he vastly preferred both the written word and man-made illustrations, which did a much better job of conveying the divine spark of creativity God had blessed humanity with. However, as he was leafing through those pages and seeing ruins of cities he had inhabited, cute yet clumsy species he had discreetly saved from extinction, masses of gas and dust he had shaped into celestial bodies, he couldn’t help but slip into a lengthy bout of nostalgia for the halcyon days of creation. He wouldn’t be surprised if Crowley kept those books around for the same reason.

When he heard some muffled noises coming from the bedroom, Aziraphale decided to make breakfast. His noble endeavor, however, was thwarted by the complete lack of any sort of raw or packed ingredient in any cupboard of the house; the fridge, instead, offered a vast selection of gourmet brioches, fruit juices, bacon and eggs, pancakes and all sorts of scrumptious dishes that looked as if they had been cooked mere minutes earlier. Well, it would be a waste not to partake, he deliberated. He’d just finished setting the table when Crowley finally joined him with a half-yawned “‘Morning.”

It was a most refreshing and welcome change of pace, being able to chat of everything and nothing over a hearty meal again, instead of covertly panicking over the very real possibility of Doomsday disrupting the next weekend, as well as all the others that would never follow. The last week had been exhausting for the both of them - especially for Crowley. For all his trademark devil-may-care attitude, it was really quite easy to notice when the demon was genuinely distressed: from his eyes, thin slits of darkness in a pool of gold that Aziraphale could always see through the glasses and that darted left and right more quickly than usual, to his gestures, that lost their swaying languor in favor of nervous, reptilian jerks, to the sudden explosions of anger and aggression that were just as dangerous as the roar of a kitten. All of that was gone now. His cutting temper was still dulled by the lingering drowsiness, and soft, unguarded smiles curved his lips in response to Aziraphale’s casual chatter. The ruffled hair, the creased clothes and the lazy nibbles at his brioche spoke of the unhurried comfort that came after overcoming a trying ordeal, and they filled the angel’s heart with genuine tenderness. There were, truly, beauty and goodness in all the things and entities that existed, even in those who supposedly tried their hardest to antagonize them.

“Oh, you may want to take those to the cleaners.” Aziraphale pointed at the folded rags he’d put on the sofa, once he was finished with his breakfast. “What ever did you do to those poor clothes to ruin them like that?”

“Ugh, throw them away.” Crowley replied with a disgusted grunt. “That’s Ligur.”

“I see.” Aziraphale said, having never heard of the brand. He agreed that the quality of the tailoring was rather shabby, so he did as he was told. “Well, I was thinking of dropping by the bookshop this morning - or what’s left of it, anyway. Who knows, there may be some intact books among the rubble…”

“Mmmh. I guess there’s no harm in checking.” Crowley didn’t look terribly convinced. “Mind if I come along?”

“Oh, not at all.” Aziraphale replied, pleasantly surprised. “But don’t you have more urgent things to do, instead of helping me carry around charred tomes?”

“Right now, not at all. I’m pretty sure I’ve been fired, so I happen to have a lot of free time on my hands.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and in a blink he was as elegant and well-groomed as ever. 

“You aren’t going to keep performing your duties then? No more tempting innocent souls or spreading negative influence?” Aziraphale inquired as they stepped into the lift.

“Are you? Even if your boss doesn’t care?”

“Why, of course. Being a harbinger of the light is the very reason of my existence! It’s more than a job, it’s my very nature!”

“Aren’t you a model employee?” Crowley deadpanned. “Well, first and foremost, I think I’ve earned myself a vacation. Now, that isn’t to say that I’m going to pass up on any opportunities to have some fun if the occasion arises...”

“Of course you aren’t.” Aziraphale smiled, stepping out of the building. “Shall we take a taxi or- Crowley?” Crowley had abruptly stopped in his tracks, staring at something in the parking area- 

“Oh!” Aziraphale eloquently commented.

Crowley jogged to what was, without a doubt, his car. Not the scorched ball of molten metal and rubber he’d been forced to abandon at Tadfield Airbase, but his cherished Bentley in all its former glory and vintage elegance. The demon stared at it in evident disbelief, his brows so high that they almost disappeared into his hairline, his mouth shaped into a perfectly round O. He admired it, ran his palm along the chassis, hopped all around to inspect it from every possible angle - including under the bumper and over the roof.

“Did you do this?” He eventually managed, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the car and the angel.

“No, it wasn’t me. But I’ve heard that yesterday’s disasters are being reverted. Maybe this is part of it.” Aziraphale suggested as Crowley opened the door and basically dove head-first into the car.

“It’s exactly as it used to be! Custom leather seats and all! Even my CDs-” Crowley took one from the dashboard, one whose cover was a wordless black void with a glass prism refracting white light into a rainbow. He inserted it into the radio and a cheery band started to sing very enthusiastically about riding a bicycle. Crowley’s exhilarated mood seemed to dampen ever so slightly. “...Yep. Just as they used to be.”

“It looks like Adam knows what he’s doing.” Aziraphale smiled, knowing how much that little miracle meant for his friend. Then, a thought struck him. “Maybe…”

“...Maybe.” Crowley agreed, understanding him at a glance. “Hop in. Let’s go and see.”

Aziraphale’s empathetic joy waned very quickly when it was obvious that Crowley’s driving style wasn’t at all affected by the recent demise of his old vehicle.

“Out of curiosity, how did the fire start?” The angel asked, trying to think of anything but the absurd number on the speed gauge.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Serves you right for quitting on me as you did though. Seriously, did you really have to pick the busiest day in the last six thousand years to leave this plane of existence? Where did you even go?”

“To Heaven, of course. And I didn’t exactly choose to leave, if you must know. I was… summoned.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Crowley sneered. “Well, guess what? My lot summoned me too, but I ignored them because I had more important stuff to do, namely saving the bloody universe-”

“Also because they would have welcomed you less than enthusiastically, I imagine-”

“On my own, because someone ditched me without one word of warning-”

“That’s not what happened at all! It was… an unfortunate accident.” Aziraphale burst out, halfway between affronted and embarrassed. 

“What kind of accident?” Crowley frowned inquisitively when Aziraphale didn’t reply. “Oi! What kind of accident?”

“...Promise me you won’t laugh.” Aziraphale begged. Crowley merely raised an eyebrow in response. The angel sighed. “Well, the thing is… I was in my bookshop, and I opened a channel to Heaven, to see if I could… talk them out of the whole universal annihilation thing-”

“Talking people out of war. Yeah, solid plan. When has it ever not worked in the history of wars?”

“It made sense to try, at least. Anyway, Shadwell walked in-”

“What the heaven was Shadwell doing in your bookshop?”

“I don’t know- could you please stop interrupting me? As I was saying, Shadwell saw the ritual and… I fear he mistook me for one of your lot. He got rather worked up and…”

“He killed you?” Crowley guessed, genuinely impressed.

“Oh no, no! He just… started pacing here and there, muttering strange things, and… well, he got a tad too close to the summoning circle - the passage was still open, you see, and…”

“And?”

“I sort of… stepped on it. While I was trying to keep him away.” Aziraphale paused. “By accident.”

Crowley didn’t reply. He looked at Aziraphale, then back at the road, then at the angel again. His mouth twitched.

“Don’t.” Aziraphale warned him. Crowley’s face had already become a quivering mess of aborted expressions that devolved very quickly into hysterical half-snorts.

“Oh sure, go ahead and- don’t take your hands off the wheel!” Aziraphale squealed when the demon did exactly that, holding his sides and throwing back his head as he burst into a boisterous laugh. Luckily, the car seemed to be endowed with all the common sense Crowley had never had and it kept avoiding pedestrians autonomously.

“That’s so stupid.” Crowley gasped, making a show of wiping away a non-existent tear. “That’s so bloody stupid. How can anyone possibly be so stupid?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In the same way one can misplace an Antichrist for eleven years, I suppose.” Aziraphale’s jab sadly didn’t manage to penetrate the waves of hilarity Crowley was exuding. “Judging by Shadwell’s behavior, he must have presumed my disappearance was due to his own… peculiar powers.”

“Oh, is that what he’s been doing with his finger all day yesterday?”

“Well, yes. What did you think he was doing?”

“I don’t know! I thought you had tried to possess him and fried a bunch of his neurons… And it’s not like he had that many to begin with-”

“Now you’re just being needlessly nasty.”

Crowley shook his head, still giggling like a child as he put his hands back on the steering wheel, just in time to park the car as they reached their destination.

“Huh.” He simply said as he climbed out of the car, studying the building as if he’d never seen it before. 

“Ah, bless that boy!” Aziraphale glowed as he excitedly walked back and forth along the front of the bookshop. A rapid survey of the inside as well confirmed that his earthly abode was just as he’d left it, books and all. Actually, there seemed to be a few extras too.

“Ohoh, this is the kind of reading I could be convinced to try.” Crowley grinned, leafing through the flashy illustrations of one ‘Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea’. “Look at this beast! This stuff is inspirational! It makes you wonder why the hellhound didn’t turn into one of these beauties.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply. Yes, everything looked just as it did before, but… “Something’s off.”

Crowley glanced around the shelves in surprise. “Really? Is anything missing?”

“No, no. The place is fine… physically. But there’s a strange feeling in the air.”

Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to start gushing about ethereal flashes of love again? I thought London was impervious to those.”

“It’s not love.” Aziraphale frowned, trying to focus on the odd sensation. It was different from what he’d felt in Tadfield: Adam’s love for his hometown was a deep-rooted, all-encompassing and aged feeling, a quiet yet powerful acknowledgement, indissolubly weaved into the very matter that composed its streets, its woods, its soil. What the angel was perceiving in his bookshop was more akin to an explosion - sudden and short-lived, yet extremely intense. “I think it’s the opposite of that.”

“Ooooh, you mean spooky? Nice. I love spooky. Still can’t feel anything though.”

“It’s… anger, I think. Rage. And…” Aziraphale paused. The sensation glimpsed in and out of his head swiftly, as if it was moving, pacing, speeding around the place almost like a physical entity, phasing through him and leaving a trail of suffocating heat-

BASTAAAAAARDS!

Aziraphale forgot to breathe. For the following seven minutes, approximately. It happened relatively often, for the most varied reasons. The most surprising thing was that this time it made his chest hurt. “...Grief.”

Crowley stood perfectly still. Very slowly, his features relaxed into what would have looked, to anybody else, like a perfectly natural neutral expression. He gazed around the shop and strolled away from Aziraphale to look out of the nearest window with equally studied nonchalance.

“Must have been one of your neighbours. It was a pretty big fire.” He said, his back turned to Aziraphale. “You know, mothers forgetting babies inside flaming buildings and all that.”

ALL OF YOU!

Aziraphale’s heart thrummed in sympathy with that whirlwind of emotion. By sheer force of habit, he blessed that painful feeling and the creature that had generated it, for nobly bearing the sacrifices that God’s plan required. Considering that Crowley didn’t instantly turn into a screaming, bubbling puddle of goo, Aziraphale guessed that God, in Her infinite wisdom, must have refused to validate that particular blessing, and he sent Her his heartfelt thanks for that as well. Aziraphale let the silence stretch for a while, quietly contemplating that powerful echo. Even when Crowley finally turned to face him, his expression still blank and his hands casually tucked in his pockets, neither of them spoke. It occurred to Aziraphale that his intent staring may have been interpreted as some sort of challenge only when the demon admitted defeat, sighing in annoyance and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, what do you want me to say? Mh?” Crowley asked, spreading his arms. “What do you want me to say that you don’t already know?”

It was a fair point. It was also (it being Crowley’s ruffled demeanour, his flat tone, his casual evasion) so strikingly familiar and typical that it warmed Aziraphale’s heart enough to finally distract him from the lingering negativity of the ambiance.

“...Would you like some hot cocoa?” The angel offered with a kind smile.

“Far from me to twist the knife into what you undoubtedly consider a major flaw in your character,” Aziraphale said as he slid in front of Crowley a steaming cup of chocolate that the demon hadn’t exactly accepted, but that he hadn’t exactly refused either, “but why were you upset so deeply? It’s not like I’ve never been discorporated before.”

“‘It’s not like I’ve never been discorporated before.’” Crowley parroted him, without acknowledging the existence of the beverage. “I swear you say the most idiotic things sometimes.”

“Well, I’m just a tad confused about your reaction, is all-”

“Why would I care about you being discorporated?!” Crowley burst out. “I thought you’d been destroyed! You try to call me - urgently - and I can’t answer, I try to call you and you don’t answer, and then I arrive here and you’re nowhere to be found and everything’s on fire - on fire! The one thing that can damage you! What was I supposed to think?”

“But… You thought it was hellfire?” Aziraphale asked, confusedly. “Why would there be hellfire in my bookshop?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It may have had something to do with the fact that I myself had almost been murdered a scant ten minutes before-”

“You were what?!” Aziraphale gasped, aghast, his own cup freezing halfway towards his mouth.

“Yeah. That was probably it, now that I think about it.” Crowley snarled, tapping his fingers on the table. “You became unreachable five minutes after I received a visit from a couple of pissed-off demons trying to ‘collect’ me. I thought that Hell had decided to settle the score with you as well, while they were at it.”

“My dear boy, I had no idea…” Aziraphale trailed off. He gasped again when the gravity of the situation sank in fully. “Heavens, you said almost murdered?! Oh no… No, this won’t do…”

“Oh, well… Maybe ‘almost murdered’ was laying it on a bit thick.” Crowley admitted, his temper finally subsiding. “They were pretty pissed off, but they didn’t even get close to the murdering part.”

“Thank God for that. But how did you manage to escape from them?”

“Oh. Remember that thermos of holy water you gave me fifty years ago?” A malicious smile spread on the demon’s face. “Good insurance indeed.”

“..Are you trying to tell me that-”

“Oh yes.” 

“You’ve smitten two demons?!” Aziraphale gaped.

“One, actually. The other one managed to escape, but I’d say I was rather-”

“I’ve never smitten a demon!” Aziraphale added, suddenly facing a minuscule existential crisis. “And that’s supposed to be my job!”

“Really? How odd.” The only demon Aziraphale had interacted with in the last six thousand years replied. Still, the angel was too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to sarcasm.

“Do you have any holy water left?”

“Uh, no, I’ve used it all up-”

“Then you’ll need some more. Lots more. It could save your skin if Hell decided to strike again.” Aziraphale stood up and headed towards the kitchen. “Here, give me a moment-”

“Hey, hey, calm down, I don’t need it right this second!” Crowley stammered, pointing at the other’s abandoned cup. “We can worry about that later, your cocoa is going cold-”

“It’s no matter, I need just two minutes-”

Exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds later, Aziraphale handed to a mildly astonished Crowley the biggest and sturdiest piece of tupperware he owned, filled to the brim with the precious liquid.

“Did you just make all this?”

“Well, yes. Blessing tap water isn’t exactly a lengthy or complicated process.”

“You can make literal gallons of holy water in two minutes, and it took you a hundred years to decide to give me two cups’ worth of it last time?!” The demon complained, without moving to grasp the container. “How very generous of you!”

“I didn’t know what you were planning to do with it! I was concerned!”

“Of what?!”

“That you might… mishandle it and get hurt! You wouldn’t give your sharpest kitchen knife to a five-year-old child just because he asked for it, would you?”

“I would. Anyway that’s a very unflattering comparison and I resent it.”

“Well, yes, here’s more holy water than you’ll ever need, hopefully.” Aziraphale impatiently held out the pitcher towards Crowley’s chest, who positively jumped back holding his arms out defensively.

“Wait wait wait wait! Your cuff is wet! Have you even dried your hands? Are you trying to kill me?”

“What- That’s just normal water! I blessed the one in the container after sealing it! Do you really think I’m that outrageously clumsy?”

“Considering that you’ve discorporated yourself through sheer clumsiness just the other day, yeah, kind of.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s- look, if you want it, it’s here. If not, do whatever you want.” Aziraphale put down the plastic carafe on the table primly, and then he finally set down to sip his cocoa. Crowley eyed the container from every possible angle, clearly expecting to find some traitorous droplet rolling down its sides, then he poked the lid gingerly.

“I don’t trust this thing not to burst open by accident before I can put it somewhere safer. Got any tape?”

Aziraphale fetched some packing tape from the cupboard and handed it to Crowley. He stood beside him, watching him secure the lid meticulously for a couple of minutes. Now that the idle bickering wasn’t distracting him any more, Aziraphale found his own soul attuning again with the background thrumming of the demon’s past anguish. It felt only natural for Aziraphale to squeeze the other’s shoulder warmly.

“You know, I’m very proud of you.”

“...Uh?” Crowley squinted at him as if the angel had just sprouted a second head. That is to say, not as if he’d done something utterly impossible, but merely something very random for no reason whatsoever.

“For showing up at Tadfield, even after all this. You were hunted down by your own brethren, you suffered a painful loss, and yet you reined in your wrath and braced your sorrow and still found the will to fight for this world. It was very brave, and selfless.”

“Uhm.” Crowley answered, with a strange dumbfounded look that instantly raised a few doubts in Aziraphale’s mind.

“That’s… that’s what you did, isn’t it?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuh- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, of course.” Crowley floundered with the elegance of a beached whale. “That’s what I did… eventually- which is to say- yeah-”

“‘Eventually’? What do you mean, ‘eventually’?”

“I mean- not right away, I needed a moment to... You know, my human operatives never managed to locate the Antichrist, so I was… kind of lost as to what I should have been doing in that moment-”

“What did you do?”

“And even if I had known where to go, what were the odds of me, all alone, averting the apocalypse? Realistically speaking-”

“What did you do, Crowley?”

“Well, since you were no more, and the Earth was going to be no more very soon regardless of what I did, I thought… you know, I may as well enjoy one last bottle of scotch in that old-fashioned pub in Hollen Street-”

“...Good Lord.” Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hand, his tone falling as flat as his expectations. “You were going to get hopelessly drunk and do nothing whatsoever about Armageddon, weren’t you?”

“Hey, don’t you dare use that tone with me! Not when I was the one who had to convince you to do anything in the first place! You were merrily going to let the sea bubble and all the creatures, great and small, be vaporized in a blaze of divine glory, remember?”

“For an entirely different reason! I was simply trying my best to follow God’s plan! You never cared a trifle about that! You only ever cared about your earthly pleasures - such as getting drunk while the whole world goes up in flames, apparently-”

“Look, what was I supposed to do?! I didn’t even know where to go! If it wasn’t for your book-”

”My book? What book?”

“Well, not your book, the American lady’s book. Agnes Nutter’s Something Something Prophecies.” Crowley resumed plastering tape all over the already foolproof lid. “I found it here while I was looking for you and I took it, because why not? And then I was leafing through it at the pub and I found your notes about Adam and the airbase and- and then this strange thing happened, you know? I opened the book on a completely random page and the very first prophecy I read was… I don’t remember how it went exactly, but it was… obviously aimed at me. In a very specific way. And it said that my ethereal companion hadn’t vanished, but I’d meet him again at the place of the final confrontation, or something like that, and I’d just read on your notes that everything written on the book is invariably true, and I thought…’Oh.’”

“Oh.” Aziraphale echoed.

“Yeah.”

While Crowley’s peculiar tale depicted a somewhat less virtuous attitude towards pain and unfavourable odds than what he’d first envisioned, Aziraphale had to admit that there was something undeniably noble in the idea of the demon abandoning his drunken stupor and speeding across the country on a flaming car the moment a few key indications and the promise of reuniting with his best friend reignited his hope. There was something undeniably touching about it on a very personal level too.

“Well... I suppose I can’t- that’s enough tape, don’t you think?” Aziraphale said gesturing at the carafe, which was by now mummified under layers of ugly brown tape.

“Uh. Right.” Crowley blinked at the container as if he’d just become aware of its existence before sitting down to finally take a sip of his own cocoa. As he sat back as well, Aziraphale took care of heating the beverage up to a pleasant temperature with a thought before it reached the demon’s lips.

“I was saying, I suppose I can’t blame you for taking a moment to… gather your thoughts, so to speak. I must confess that I myself haven’t acted quite as promptly as I could have in the last days.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes. Admittedly, by the time I called you, I’d been aware of the Antichrist’s whereabouts for… a little bit.”

“Yeah?” Crowley frowned. “How little, exactly?”

“Oh, roughly… twelve hours, I think.”

“Twelve hours?!” Crowley sputtered. “We could have got to Tadfield twelve hours earlier?! Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d have spared ourselves with a twelve-hour advance?”

“Well-”

“I wouldn’t have had to drive my car through a bloody wall of fire, for one!” Crowley threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “What have you even been doing in all that time?”

“I was… considering the situation. You’ll admit I was in a rather delicate position, and I felt that I had to choose my actions carefully.” Aziraphale argued. “Eventually I decided to tell you, and the upper offices as well. It seemed like a good way to help our cause without, you know, openly obstructing Heaven’s plans.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What else did you decide?”

“Nothing. That was what I came up with, and so I-”

“And it took you twelve hours to decide that?” Crowley groaned, covering his face. “Quick thinking really isn’t your thing, is it?”

“Well, there’s no reason to dwell on recriminations.” Aziraphale stated briskly. “Everything turned out just fine, in the end.”

“If by ‘fine’ you mean that ten million demons’ and ten million angels’ best laid plans and efforts went completely into smoke for no purpose other than postponing the inevitable battle for another… I don’t know, one or two thousand years - then sure, everything’s just dandy.” Crowley muttered to his cocoa. “Do you seriously believe this was all God’s plan? All of this for nothing? What’s the bloody point?”

“You know I can’t answer that question. But I wouldn’t say this was all for nothing. From my very limited and imperfect perspective, for example, I can clearly see at least two creatures who have ultimately benefited from this whole Apocalypse ordeal. But I’m sure there must be many, many more.”

“And those would be?”

“Adam, for one. Armageddon truly brought out the best in him. Didn’t you hear him talk with the Horsepeople? His words were so humble and simple, yet such an inspiring embodiment of all virtues! Prudence and temperance above all, and then justice and courage-”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait until he reaches puberty and then we’ll see where all those virtues will go.”

“Still, you have to admit that, for someone who’s supposed to be the literal spawn of Evil, his spirit is remarkably untainted. I’m sure he wouldn’t have turned out like this without going through the process of human life, or if he had come into existence among demons in the depths of Hell. Maybe this was all this proto-Armageddon was about: offering a chance of redemption to what would have otherwise been unredeemable spirits.”

“Mmmh.” Crowley crossed his arms with evident skepticism. “And who’s the other one?”

“Why you, of course.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a smile at Crowley’s stunned silence.

“...Sorry, what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? As I said, during the past week you have displayed an admirably selfless side-”

“Watch it, angel.” Crowley muttered. “Keep casting aspersions on me and no miracle will be able to fix what I’ll do to your collection of Bibles.”

“Oh, don’t be a child about it. It’s perfectly understandable, considering how much time you spent around me. I am a Principality, after all-”

“Excuse me. I must have misheard.” Crowley raised his finger, then he leaned towards Aziraphale across the table with a malevolent squint. “Are you by any chance telling me that you’ve been trying to inspire goodness in me?”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale gave him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t hold much hope to succeed, but I’ll admit I was rather curious. A few good deeds now and then, less evil ones performed in person, after yours truly accepted to carry them out for you… I wonder if all that could tip the moral scales at least a little bit, so to speak.” Aziraphale let out a small laugh in response to Crowley’s stunned silence. “What? Haven’t you been trying to do the same since we met?”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised so much that they almost disappeared into his hairline, and he opened and closed his mouth soundlessly like a fish gasping for air before he managed to put together a reply. “I- You- you knew?”

“Of course I knew! Why else would a demon associate so freely with a sworn enemy?”

“But- then- why did you keep seeing me?!”

“Because there was no way you’d succeed, obviously. An angel being corrupted, in this day and age! And me, of all people! No offense, but the mere idea is laughable.”

“It’s no more laughable than a demon being redeemed!”

“I disagree on that. Demons used to be angels, after all. Evil is an acquired trait for your lot, and who’s to say your innate core of Goodness isn’t still there, ready to be unburied?”

“No. No no no, all right, this is much more than ridiculous. This is blasphemous. You thought you could pave the road to the redemption of someone who’s been irrevocably deemed unforgivable? You thought you could single-handedly overturn a sentence of eternal damnation issued by the Almighty Herself? You thought you knew better than God?” Crowley spread his arms in outrage. “And they said Lucifer had too high an opinion of himself!”

“I never said that God was wrong.” Aziraphale raised his hands defensively. “Your punishment was amply deserved. But that happened thousands of years ago. Some things have changed. Some demons may have changed too. And God has always been way more forgiving than your lot credited Her for.”

“You are out of your mind.”

“But… Oh, you must see my point! Think of the lives you saved- think of the whole world you saved!”

“Literally none of that was done out of goodwill. Especially not for the humans. I just like what they’ve done with the place, therefore I want it to keep existing. For myself. It’s entirely selfish. End of the story.”

“And,” Aziraphale pressed on, leaning towards Crowley as well, “you rebelled!”

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I did. That’s what I’m saying, it isn’t the kind of thing God just gets over with-” 

“No, I don’t mean against God! You rebelled against Satan! If you had reported to Hell about the baby swapping as soon as you learnt of it, they still could have found a solution- tailing the hound, for example. But you did not! You sabotaged them, you went as far as to fight other demons-!

“Out of self presevation! No one in their right mind would keep working for someone who’s just going to slaughter them at the end of the job! I was doing anything I could think of doing to save my skin! You know, selfishly! How are you struggling to grasp this basic concept so much?!”

“And then you fought Satan himself!” Aziraphale proclaimed, undeterred by the growing heat of Crowley’s answers. “You did not run, you did not turn sides-”

“As if you could just run from the boss. And fighting is a bit of a strong word, isn’t it? The kid didn’t let even the tip of his horns out of the pavement-”

“That hardly matters, what matters is the intent! You held your ground, proud and determined, ready to fight him ‘til the bitter end, armed only with the one thing you loved most in the world in your hand-”

“Oi, oi, oi!” Crowley sputtered. “Lay it on a bit thicker, will you? Where did that- You can’t just-”

Crowley’s confusion gave Aziraphale pause. The demon was growing considerably red. Oh dear. Could he ignite out of sheer rage? That would be a first. “I really don’t think I’m exaggerating. You were ready to die fighting him, we both were.”

“Not that! The thing- the ‘thing you love the most’ thing, what even-”

“That too. At least I had a proper weapon, but you only had that… what was that, a piece of your Bentley? I’m sure it had a huge emotional value for you, but in terms of offensive capabilities… Talk about David and Goliath…”

That shocked Crowley into silence. “...Oh. The car.” He eventually managed. “Yeah. The car. Yeah.”

“Yes. What did you think I was-” The answer struck Aziraphale before the question was finished. He had only two hands, after all. “...Oh, Crowley-”

“All right, that’s IT!” Crowley suddenly shouted, shooting up on his feet and banging his fist on the table. The sunlight filtering from the window behind Crowley was blocked by the magnificent pair of wings that spread from his back, casting a looming shadow above the sitting angel. The rest of the room grew inexplicably darker as well as the demon towered above Aziraphale, mouth twisted and teeth bared in an enraged snarl. He pointed towards his wings. “Look. Look at these, do you see them? Not a single white feather. Not a lighter shade of grey anywhere. Do you see them? Black. Charred. Tainted. Not by fire, or tar, or soot, or mud. By God. God changed them. Changed everything. And you can’t fix God’s work. You can’t get a bloody word in edgewise, actually. Believe me, we’re the ones who tried. Now,” Crowley bent downwards still, his back arched like a predator ready to strike, his nose mere centimetres away from Aziraphale, “I don’t know what gave you the impression of being smarter than the highest order of the universe, but I think we can agree that whatever little self-empowering game you’ve been playing hasn’t changed anything. Right?”

“Right.” Aziraphale replied without the slightest inflection, as he was starting to feel like he’d overstepped some boundary. Not so much with the universe as with his friend.

“Right. So quit yapping about goodness and selflessness and whatnot before I show you exactly what’s the difference between the two of us.” Aziraphale remained respectfully silent. Finally Crowley straightened up as his wings disappeared and the room cleared up again. The demon fixed his jacket, scowling at the surrounding shelves as if they had personally offended him. “Keep the water, I don’t need it. I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve. Bye.”

“What? Wait! Where are you going?” Aziraphale startled, hurrying after Crowley as he walked off to the front door.

“Away. I’m busy.”

“I thought you were on holiday.” The angel almost bumped into the other as he stopped and turned on his heels abruptly, another snarling reply ready to fire. “And I was wondering if we could have lunch together at the Ritz.”

“Why? So that your ethereal influence can polish my spirit a bit more?”

“Really, now. You know me better than that.” Aziraphale gave him his most conciliatory smile. “No point in saving the world if we don’t get to enjoy it, right?”

Crowley hesitated just long enough to let Aziraphale know that he was well aware of being played. And then he did it anyway. “...Right. But you’re paying.”

“Of course.”

“What do you think would happen to us, if we were to die from now on?” Aziraphale asked, several hours and a lucullan lunch later.

“Well, aren’t you a bundle of laughs lately?” Crowley deadpanned. He was enjoying the fine afternoon breeze and the idle quacking of the ducks in St. James’ Park too much to embark in such grim elucubrations.

“I think it’s a legitimate concern. I don’t see either Heaven or Hell granting us a new body after all the trouble we’ve caused.” 

“I guess not. But I think we’re covered at least until Adam remains on Earth. He didn’t even have to snap his fingers to make you a new one.”

“You have remarkable faith in that child, haven’t you?” Aziraphale graced Crowley with an obscenely proud smile. The demon grimaced and waved at him dismissively.

“Faith has nothing to do with it. Faith is blind and deaf and groundless. Adam has put up a pretty effective and tangible demonstration of his powers. And he likes us. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you get discorporated, just knock on his mind and he’ll fix it.”

“But he won’t be here forever to help us. He’s still a mortal, just like Jesus.” Aziraphale insisted from above his newly acquired copy of Treasure Island. “What about afterwards?”

“I have a better question for you.” Crowley enunciated importantly, shifting to lean on the bench just a tad more composedly and deciding to change the topic. “What about his afterwards?”

“...You mean what will happen to him after his death? Well, won’t he just go back where he came from?”

“To Hell? Really?” Crowley leaned towards Aziraphale conspiratorially. “Do you really think that Satan will let anyone, including his son - especially his son - potentially endowed with the power to rival him, into his own Reign? Do you have any idea of the trouble it could cause? Demons have a strong tendency to question the authorities, you may have noticed.”

“I… I suppose you do have a point.” Aziraphale had to agree, visibly struck by the realization. “But where would he go then? Surely not to Heaven… The Antichrist in Heaven, could you even imagine it?”

“Not really, no. But there’s another possibility.” Crowley tipped his glasses forwards, staring pointedly at the angel from above the dark lenses. “If neither Reign will want him, he may… you know, carve his own place for himself. A new one. Create his own path.”

“What?” Aziraphale slightly leaned away from Crowley in sheer shock. “A third faction? For the love of God, Crowley, don’t even mention it! Aren’t things already difficult enough with two parties at war? Another schism, whether within Hell itself or from the outside, would only compromise the balance of the universe even further!”

“Looks to me like a third faction has been existing for a long time now.”

“Pardon?”

Crowley gestured vaguely all around. “How would you call the six billions humans currently living on this planet, and all the others who came before them?”

“They’re not a faction. They’re-”

“Sort of cattle, when you think about it-”

“Creatures.” Aziraphale corrected him sternly.

“Creatures that both our lots have been merrily cannibalizing for the last six millennia for the sake of our own petty squabble-”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that your lot has been indeed cannibalizing all the poor souls you could snatch.” Aziraphale pointed out primly. “We, on the other hand, have been educating them. Guiding them. Nurturing them. Cherishing them-”

“Oh yeah, those words sound so much nicer, don’t they?” Crowley sneered, barely repressing the impulse to hiss in annoyance.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you see no fundamental difference between what we do and what you do?” Aziraphale asked in dismay. “Do you really, honestly believe Heaven and Hell to be on equal moral ground?”

“All I’m saying is that it’s really easy for me to imagine these guys,” he insisted, pointing at a random couple of passersby who clearly did not appreciate being pointed at by a perfect stranger in the middle of a heated argument, “getting fed up with both our and your interferences sooner or later, and it looks to me like they may just find their own champion in our dear Antichrist.”

“This is ridiculous! We needn’t talk about such a hare-brained notion any longer.” Aziraphale asserted firmly, then a thought struck him and he eyed Crowley suspiciously. “I do hope you aren’t planning to put strange ideas in that child’s head.”

“Putting ideas in his head?! He has enough ideas of his own to build a brand new universe from scratch! He doesn’t need mine!”

“Good, because the last thing everyone needs right now is another Rebellion.”

“Why? Are you scared he might have better luck than we did?” Crowley couldn’t help but smirk.

“Of course not. It’s just… not the right way to go about it.”

“Asking questions and demanding a little more respect and straightforwardness from your boss isn’t the right way to go about solving a problem? ‘Cause that’s what we did-”

“You raised your hand against God.” Aziraphale’s glare was more scalding and cutting than his sword had ever been. “You took up arms against Her and your own brethren, and you did it first and without provocation, and don’t even try to justify that.”

“I-” Crowley started, but bit his lip not to continue. He hadn’t taken up any arms, surely not first, he thought. He hadn’t, but others had. Others on what he hadn’t realized yet would permanently become ‘his side’. And by the time he had finally grasped the severity of the rift that had formed between those new sides, it was already far too late for reconsiderations. He turned his gaze away from the angel, and focussed instead on a couple of black swans elegantly brawling for the possession of a floating chunk of bread. The park was oddly quiet, and their irked squawking was the only sound the demon could hear for several minutes.

“My point is,” Crowley suddenly said when he spied Aziraphale’s mouth moving to speak, because he would not let him have the last word on that topic even if it killed him, “that if one feels that he isn’t being treated fairly, you can’t really blame him for trying to look after himself. At least we can agree on that, yes? Yes.”

Aziraphale’s silence felt like a hard-earned victory. Neither Heaven nor Hell would be impartial when the moment to judge Adam would come, and if the Antichrist was to be shunned by both sides, wouldn’t it be only natural for him to-

“Is that why you rebelled?” The angel asked, eyes fixed on the book open on his lap. It took Crowley by surprise, how delicately Aziraphale had uttered that ‘you’, so very different from the spiteful ‘you’ of the rivalling group. It was a very personal question, the most personal question the angel had ever asked him.

Crowley didn’t answer. Aziraphale didn’t ask again.

“Well,” the angel sighed after a long silence, “I guess my point is that we’d better be extremely careful not to be discorporated in the future. Our sudden reappearance in our respective head offices might have rather unpleasant consequences.”

“You just can’t stop worrying about it, can you?” Crowley remarked, a tad mockingly. “I guess it comes with spending your entire existence as an upstanding Heaven citizen. Never really got on God’s bad side, have you?”

“Well, there was that little mishap with my sword...”

“Psh, I’m not talking about misplacing your toys. I mean Her really bad side. I’m talking about going openly against Her will - like you may very well have done by averting Armageddon-”

“Excuse you, I firmly believe I’ve been doing nothing but serving the Greater Good during these trying times.” Aziraphale countered, rather piqued. “And the Greater Good is God’s will by definition, so I don’t see why She should be in any way displeased by my actions… I believe.” A flash of uncertainty crossed the angel’s features, but he shook it off immediately. “Besides, everything that happens anywhere and at any time is part of Her plan, and therefore part of Her will, and therefore good.”

“Well, excuse you, but by that ridiculous logic the Rebellion was part of Her plan too, and therefore good, and therefore none of us should have been banished and doomed to eternal spite and damnation. And yet.” 

“No! That is an entirely different matter, and-” Aziraphale stopped talking abruptly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “Let us not talk about politics. It never ends well.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.” Crowley crossed his arms belligerently, but he didn’t push the argument further. Not that specific argument, at least. “Anyway, I still don’t see why you’re having kittens over this disobedience thing. If you think God Herself has no beef with you, what’s the matter? What’s the worst thing your seraphic superiors could do to you, uh? Call you back up to head office and confine you to a boring desk job where you couldn’t possibly hinder their holy machinations? Oh boy, oh dear, mighty scary punishment-”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about, Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted him vehemently, hands tightly clasped in his lap. It took Crowley frankly too long to figure out the meaning of his troubled grimace.

“...You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am! Desk jobs and bureaucracy will be the last of your worries if you end up within the grasp of a cohort of vengeful demons! They’ve already tried to destroy you once-”

“No, no no no, you don’t get it, it’s fine. I’m not in danger!” Crowley exclaimed, stretching the truth roughly to the size of Australia. “They’ll never manage to get their hands on me. The top brass wouldn’t come up here just to retrieve a small fry like me, they’ll just send a couple of brainless grunts now and then. And I’m not calling them brainless as gratuitous slander, they really are unbelievably stupid. Not even remotely a threat.”

“You’ve destroyed a demon! One of your own kind! They won’t overlook such an act so easily, for sure!”

“All right, listen. First of all, demons killing other demons isn’t nearly as outrageous as you think. Happens every other day. One day you’re chatting with Valak from Heat Management about the new strain of flies Beelzebub’s sporting and the next day, poof! Someone tells you that he’s been shoved into a furnace by a pissed-off Count because of a broken thermostat. Not even worth a slap on the wrist.”

“Still,” Aziraphale hesitated, “your case is clearly different. It’s outright treason! They’ll send some skillful operatives-”

“The ones they already sent were the skillful ones! Dukes of Hell, no less! And I dispatched both of them literally in five minutes! Want to know how?” Crowley stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of the bench, gesturing wildly to re-en-act his epic tale of cunning and strategy. “All right, here’s how. The holy water you gave me, right? I poured that into a bucket and put the bucket on top of the door of the study, which was ajar - what are you looking at? Get lost!” He added, glaring at a couple of nearby kids who had interrupted their aimless running around to stare at him as he stood poised on the tip of his toes to position an invisible prop on top of an invisible surface. The brats scampered away immediately. “Anyway, Ligur opened the door and bam, one Duke of Hell melted into nothingness, just like that. And the second? Well, actually I did have a plan involving holy water for him too, but that one didn’t really fly - but then!” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale suddenly and enthusiastically enough to make him flinch. “You called, and I - brilliantly - got inspired by that and trapped Hastur into my phone! ...For a while - but the point is that it was just that easy.”

“Why, wasn’t that ingenious of you?” Aziraphale said, his eyes shining with such disarming and honest admiration that Crowley completely lost track of his thoughts.

“I- well, yeah, I guess I-” He started, before his brain rebooted and he smacked his forehead in frustration. “No! No, it wasn’t! It was dumb! That’s my point! A bucket on a door, Aziraphale! Two Dukes of Hell tricked by the sort of pranks that some dumb human toddlers- Oi! Why are you still here?!” He suddenly shouted, as his gaze fell on a bush that did absolutely nothing to hide the same couple of brats he’d just shooed away, still spying on his little pantomime. As they ran away again, Crowley took care of summoning a couple of ringed snakes and sending them on their heels, just to provide that extra zest of entertainment that their afternoon clearly lacked.

“Ehr, you were saying?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing the hissing grass with mild concern.

“I was saying that my esteemed colleagues have the tactical prowess of drunk baboons, and they don’t even bother to keep up with what’s going on up here. A child with a mobile phone could outsmart them. So no, they’re never going to get me.” Crowley plopped back on the bench heavily, crossing both arms and legs and deliberately channeling a good three decades of macho cinematography in his stance. “Not on my turf.”

“That’s reassuring, but it doesn’t quite put all my worries at rest. Don’t you think we should at least keep a close eye on each other for a while?”

“How so?”

“Oh, just seeing each other. More often than once a decade, I mean. Exchanging information, checking that we’re still around in one piece.”

“And if we aren’t? What if one day I just disappear, uh? Are you going to march into the depths of Hell armed with your non-existent army and your lost sword?”

“I was thinking more of a tanker filled with holy water.”

Crowley snorted. “That would be a sight.”

“So? What do you say? Once a month? Once a week? At least until things get calmer.”

“Oh boy, I don’t know if I have all this free time to ‘keep an eye’ on you. I’ll have to check my agenda.”

“You’re still on a self-proclaimed holiday.”

“And do you have any idea how time-consuming that is?”

[kestrelblaze]

Cats I think Deserved Better

Basically the series is rife with cats that had interesting plot ideas/lines that got shafted by the Erin's and I've decided I wanted to list them more.

1. Leafpool

I had already made a post about her, but basically her entire character arc felt really squandered. She could have been used to show that the Code needed revision and some elements caused more harm then good, referencing former medicine cats that had kits as evidence along with the fact that having kits did not impact her ability at all.

They even could have used this to show Mothflight in Starclan realizing the code she made was inherently flawed and catered more to her than medicine cats as a whole.

2. Speckletail and Snowkit

If you don't remember them Speckletail was a queen during the first series and also the mother of the deaf Snowkit who was taken by a hawk during book 5: A Rising Storm and was used primarily as a plot device to show how far Bluestar had fallen.

A deaf character alone is wasted potential, but this gets really noticeable when you realize Speckletail had developed a way to to communicate with Snowkit (there being an implication that he wasn't completely deaf). If they kept dead Snowkit it would have been nice to see Speckletail come to terms with it instead of just being shoved off into the Elder's Den and forgotten.

3. Sootfur and Rainwhisker

Rainwhisker was my favorite side character for awhile, and being that they are implied to be the sons of Whitestorm, who was Firestar's first deputy, I felt they had a lot of wasted potential. We never had any scenes of them or their sister Sorreltail grieving over their parents, or talking about their POV of previous events and that always bothered me.

4. Stormfur and Brook

The Tribe as a whole is a missed opportunity to me, especially since its shown they arent that far from the clans and since their introduction they always have at least one book where the current PoV cat has to go deal with an issue. But to be more specific to these cats, I think Storm and Brook are more of a missed opportunity in terms of being Tribe cats that joined Thunderclan, mostly because Stormfur was originally a Riverclan cat and that after a few books with no use of them beyond being background characters they got sent back home.

It could have been an amazing way to bring attention back to Riverclan to have Stormfur go back and trying to reintegrate into his old clan, maybe him and Brook having to leave it for Thunderclan due to not fitting in to their particular clan again. The two in general had great ideas behind them, especially concerning Graystrip and Millie and they could have had some interesting interactions about Silverstream but....

5. Riverclan as a whole after TPB

As a whole, Riverclan heavily got the shaft after the cats moved territories. I blame this in part due to the borders shifting and Thunderclan sharing a border with Windclan and Shadowclan now but it is still glaringly obvious when you consider how much screen time they had in the beginning and how their part in the Alliances barely ever changes now.

6. Darktail, Onestar, and Sleekwhisker

Darktail was an amazing villain in aVoS, and he actually had an interesting backstory with Onestar that came.... out of absolutely nowhere. There was no hints to his existence and tbh it felt like an asspull (which it probably was tbh). Especially when you consider for him to exist he had to be born in the old territories, and the only logical time he could have been born without making him an elder would have been between book 6 and Firestar's Quest. Some more elaboration between him and Onestar would have been amazing, especially since Onestar really needed some development himself.

A way to do this in an amazing way would have been to make Heathertail a PoV character. She is heavily implied to be Onestar's daughter and thus Darktail's Half Sister and could have given us valuable insight into how Windclan was dealing with the Kin, giving us more hints to Darktail being Onestar's son, and fleshing out her romance with Breezepelt.

Add to this is his implied mate Sleekwhisker. Watching Darktail die, she could have easily been used to take up the mantle and become the overarching villain and leader of the Kin for the final 3 aVoS books instead of just... taking off. She would have made an excellent villain for how deranged she was and how the fandom already hated her, but instead she was a wasted potential. I am hoping in the theory that she took off because she was pregnant with Darktail's kits tho.

7. Hollyleaf

I know, dead horse here, but Hollyleaf in general was an amazing character and had so much potential. Her fanatical loyalty to the code could have been used in so many ways especially if she was given a power. A youtuber named Roseshard (I think) made the theory that her power should have been forcing cats around her to speak the truth when she questioned them and if you combine that with her fanatical loyalty to the code this could have made her a very compelling character.

If we kept it as is, her returning to the clan having matured in the caves was also a wasted opportunity, especially since she dies. I will admit this: Lionblaze should have died over Hollyleaf.

Now, I get what you are thinking: with Lionblaze's ability he couldnt, and Jayfeather is needed in his slot. From a narrative standpoint, it would have made a much better ending if Lionblaze put his ability to the real test and to save his clan took on the Dark Forest himself, a battle that would eventually end in his death but saving his clan (I'm not talking the whole of Dark Forest, just a big chunk of their warriors). Hollyleaf returning just to die did nothing for the narrative and after a full 5-6 books of Lionblaze and Jayfeather morning her it would have been better to keep her dead, or kill off someone else instead.

8. Twigbranch and Violetshine

Outside of Twigbranch having an amazing name and Violetshine basically being a teen mom and switching from Shadowclan to Skyclan (and them being Hawkwing's kits), can you tell me anything interesting they actually did in aVoS? I rest my case.

9. Ivypool and Dovewing

I know, both were POV cats but they felt so wasted.

I boil this down to having to share the spotlight with Lionblaze and Jayfeather tbh, especially in The Fourth Apprentice and Fading Echoes to the point we never got a feel of their characters. Both had really amazing qualities that were really easy to empathize with but the erins crudy writing in the series made it difficult to let them shine. Dovewing was a character who struggled to find her place in the world and focused on finding it through love, while hating her powers for making her different from her sister. Ivypool felt neglected and struggled to show she was just as capable as any other cat in the clan, getting only half the information to explain why her sister was more important.

To be honest, it would have been so much better if the books were rewritten so Dovewing was the sole narrator of The Fourth apprentice and Ivypook was the narrator of Fading Echos. Dovewing and Ivypool could switch in Sign of the Moon.

The fact the narration got split between them and Lionblaze and Jayfeather in each book really took a toll and left them underdeveloped.

10. Sandstorm

Sandstorm got a lot of screentime in the first series, but I will forever rage at the missed opportunity for Firestar to make her deputy. She showed all the qualities in the first series, and it's beyond obvious the only reason Brambleclaw was chosen was because of Protagonist Syndrome.

11. Goosefeather

Just Goosefeather.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Feel free to add more

[sally-mun]

I was interested in writing some bits about the parents of Archie Sonic tonight, but tbh I’m too damn tired for everything I was thinking about (it’s been a week). I’m still in the mood to ramble, though, so I’ll just focus on one character for tonight since we were talking about him anyway.

When Elias first hit the scene, I haaaaated him -- largely because he was a very obvious Sally replacement. Quite frankly I was offended that this guy literally strolled in out of nowhere and was going to take the birthright that Sally had spent her entire life preparing herself for. In retrospect, however, I now realize that there’s another glaringly obvious reason that I didn’t like him but didn’t realize at the time: Elias Acorn, at the point of introduction, was an enormous douchebag.

Looking at the pages @thankskenpenders has been posting today, it’s especially obvious that his initial conception was much hoitier and toitier than the Elias that would eventually earn an enormous fan following. He has such a pompous air about him and quite literally looks down his nose at people in half the panels featuring him. It was bad enough that someone had swooped in out of nowhere to take over Sally’s role, but that it was this guy?

THIS FUCKING GUY?!?

Yeah, I wasn’t having it.

SO IMAGINE MY SHOCK SEVERAL YEARS LATER when I did eventually get sucked back into the comics and found myself genuinely enjoying Elias’ presence. Not only that, the more issues I saw him in, the more I looked forward to his next appearance. His portrayal now came across far less entitled and much more emotionally invested in having to do hard work -- basically, a sharp 180 from his arrival. Even his body language, such as the way he carried himself and how his face emoted, had changed drastically since that first introduction.

Now granted, a lot of this infusion of personality and emotion has to do with the artist, but it’s also the writing, He was given a distinct identity outside of “I’m the long-lost prince and I’m going to be king!” and his own motivations. Of all of the characters that were forcibly injected into the central cast of the comics, he ended up finding a role that not only needed to be filled, but it stepped on far fewer toes that anyone could’ve ever guessed.

Of course, this leaves us with quite a big disparity just within a single character -- and it’s not the result of a character arc. Elias’ evolution had nothing to do with the story and his growth as a person, but rather with the competence level of those handling him. It’s the sort of thing that can throw an enormous wrench into the fandom, as there are some fans that refuse to ever forgive a character for their past no matter how much their portrayal improves.

Well, I’m not one of those people, but I’m also not the sort of person that’ll just eat whatever slop is dumped in front of me. I want Elias’ wonky evolution to make some degree of sense, soooo I came up with a head canon to explain it: In the beginning, I think Elias was more or less copying Max, because he had absolutely no idea how he was “supposed” to act. After all, he’d been raised completely outside of anything resembling the monarchy, so he didn’t exactly have royal protocols, customs, or manners hammered into him the way the rest of his family would. Not only that, but the upbringing he DID receive was courtesy of the Brotherhood -- a group that raises its children primarily outdoors, with a focus on survival skills and reading nature. When he was abruptly summoned and brought ‘home’ by King Max, Elias was about as far out of his element as you could possibly get him. He was meeting all these people (including his father) for the first time, and everyone was suddenly expecting him to take control and lead them. What’s a hapless hillbilly to do in that sort of situation??

I’ll tell you what he does: He uses the survival skills the Brotherhood taught him and he adapts. What’s the first tool of surviving in an unfamiliar environment? Mimicking those that do understand it. King Max wants him to take over in his place, so, naturally Elias is going to start copying Max in the hopes that he can fit the role and be successful.

Of course, after a while the environment becomes more familiar, and he gets to know his new peers, and he becomes more comfortable in this sort of setting. As a result, he has less and less of a need to “act” like a king, and instead he can simply be the king -- the kind of king HE sees fit to be, even when Max disapproves. I can’t imagine early Elias EVER doing anything to defy Max, because he’s so lost and vulnerable at that time that he needs Max’s approval in order to get by. Once that becomes less important to him, however, he’s far more able to be himself.

Something else that gets in the way of Elias being able to copy his father forever is, well, the fact that King Max spends a very, very long time being a bitchy old prick. There was going to be a time limit on Elias modeling himself after him anyway, but would YOU want to keep modeling your behavior after someone that’s clearly abusive to the people under his control? I think it’s safe to say Elias has a strong respect for authority (having been raised by the BH and all), but he’s also got a strong sense of justice, and watching his father treat people like garbage would only solidify his resolve not to be that type of king himself.

Also, as a side note, I think it’s telling that when Elias ran off for a while, the place he ran to was Feral Forest -- aka an environment very much like the one he’d been raised in. I have to believe that being pulled from his real home to his ‘real’ home so suddenly, and then having to put on a performance day in and day out, really beat him down after a while, and he needed to get back to his roots to recharge and figure out what HE wanted, and who HE wanted to be, rather than letting Max turn him into something he wasn’t (and didn’t want to be). The fact that he ended up with Megan following this incident is pretty strong evidence that this was the point where Elias decided that he needed to stick to his own morals, because it’s unambiguously established later on that Max does not approve of his relationship and the child he’s rearing.

Personally, I think Elias has some strong resentments against Max, for various reasons. First and foremost, I think it rubs him the wrong way that Max just kind of showed up out of nowhere and wanted to be his father -- or rather, he wanted the privileges that came with being his father without actually being his father. I wouldn’t be surprised if Elias sees him more like a stepdad, and as we all know, there’s a lot of friction to be had when a stepparent starts trying to lay down rules and enforce discipline. Elias has respect for Max, sure, but it’s more in the form of respecting the authority of his rank; when it comes to respecting Max as a person, Elias has... opinions. He may not necessarily voice them, again out of respect for Max’s higher rank, but he definitely has... opinions.

SO YEAH. That’s just something that was on my mind tonight, among other things. I hope you all enjoyed this episode of Sally-mun Runs Her Mouth in the Middle of the Night.

[phosphorescent-naidheachd]

Evaluating Sansa’s Betrayal in AGOT

@ John Hodgman, I cordially invite you to fight me over these comments in your 2016 intro to A Game of Thrones: The Illustrated Edition: “After all, it’s Sansa’s escapist addiction to the old tales and the romantic pablum of Florian and Jonquil that fuels her great, catastrophic betrayal of the actual humans around her.” 

Although I’m a huge Sansa fan, I’m not one of those people who believes that she bears no culpability for the consequences of having told Cersei about her father’s intention to take them away from King’s Landing. BUT. To call her actions not merely a betrayal or even a catastrophic betrayal, but a “great, catastrophic betrayal” is utter bullshit, and by focusing solely on Sansa’s “escapist addiction” to romances, you’re flattening the factors behind her (admittedly poor) decision to trust Cersei, and indeed the factors behind her willingness to buy into those romantic songs in the first place. I understand the point you’re making, but I also think you’re rather overstating it.

Let’s break this claim down piece by piece, shall we?

1. Sansa’s “escapist addiction” to romances

There’s no denying that Sansa loves romantic tales and ballads, nor that---thanks to a sheltered childhood---she mistakenly believes them to be unalloyed truth. However, look at the context of her upbringing. Sansa has been raised in a patriarchal society that encourages her to believe in these songs, largely because they reinforce existing social roles and make her easier to control. Moreover, it’s clear that as of the beginning of AGOT, no authority figure has seriously tried to teach Sansa otherwise. I don’t believe this was done maliciously---I think that her parents and Septa Mordane don’t want to disillusion her quite yet, and assume that there’s still plenty of time left to teach her the realities of the world before she leaves Winterfell. (And if it weren’t for the death of Jon Arryn, they might even have been right! Though I also think there’s an element of self-delusion at work in this line of thinking, as I’ll get into later in #2.) I also get the sense that Sansa sometimes slips through the cracks a bit because she isn’t a ‘problem child’; Sansa is far from perfect, but she’s generally well-behaved and she naturally fits into the idealized Westerosi conception of a noblewoman. The gaps in her education and emotional maturity aren’t as immediately glaringly obvious as, say, Arya’s are, and that makes it easy for a busy adult to put those gaps on a back burner to deal with some nebulous time ‘later’. (Arya slips through the cracks too, but it’s a different set of cracks, if that makes any sense. Despite their differences, both Sansa and Arya are failed by prescribed Westerosi gender roles, but that’s a discussion for another day.)

Also, anyone who is reading ASOIAF for pleasure doesn’t really have a foot to stand on regarding enjoying escapist fantasies, IMO. The world of ASOIAF may be “brutal”, as you say, but that doesn’t mean visiting it isn’t a form of escapism. Fiction of any form is inherently escapist, even as it often acts as a mirror that forces us to confront aspects of our own reality. (I don’t know if I’d entirely agree that GRRM has “captured the authentic meanness of the medieval world” either, by the way---he notoriously makes certain aspects of life in Westeros worse than they were in RL medieval Europe---but that’s also a conversation for another day.)

To be certain, Sansa internalizes fictional narratives more than your average reader of the series, but that’s partially because, at least on a surface level, her life easily could become one that belongs in the songs she loves. For instance, long before King Robert suggests betrothing Sansa to Joffrey, it’s not wholly in the realm of fantasy for her to dream of marrying a prince; considering her position in life, it’s a solid potential actuality. (Once again, more on this later in #2.) Sansa doesn’t fully understand what being part of a song would mean for her---that is to say, high romance generally necessitates high tragedy---nor does she fully appreciate the responsibilities and costs associated with becoming royalty, but considering she’s eleven/twelve years old in AGOT? That’s perfectly normal for a noble girl her age, even within the context of the universe of ASOIAF. (Are there exceptions to this? Absolutely. But that’s what they are: exceptions.) Just look at Alla and Elinor and Megga Tyrell!

Furthermore, while there’s an element of escapism to Sansa’s love of songs---when we first meet her, Sansa can’t wait to go South and have her ‘real’ life begin---I would argue that Sansa doesn’t actively indulge in much escapism or self-delusion until after the Baratheons arrive at Winterfell. Even after seeing Joffrey’s cruelty at Ruby Ford, she forces herself---and him---into the narratives that she loves and has been implicitly taught that she should emulate right up to the point where denial becomes impossible (i.e. her father’s execution). This is because one of Sansa’s innate survival/coping mechanisms is her ability to lie to herself as much as to others; we see this most clearly in AGOT and in AFFC.* So when the events at the Ruby Ford occur in AGOT, Sansa’s initial instinct is to ‘forget’ what actually happened. (This is aided by the fact that Joffrey had been plying her with wine---far more, we’re explicitly told, than she’s ever been allowed to drink before.) It isn’t just that she doesn’t want her golden prince and fairytale future to have been a lie---though that’s certainly a key motivator!---or callousness towards a peasant boy or frustration with her sister’s refusal to play according to societal rules (though these are both certainly present), but it’s also that she’s being questioned about events in front of an audience... in front of individuals with tremendous power over her, both because they’re royalty and because they’re her future family members. 

As Sansa has undoubtedly been taught, once a woman is married, her first loyalty must be to her husband and his family over the family of her birth. And while it’s true that betrothed is not the same thing as married, betrothals seem to be taken relatively seriously in Westeros. You can certainly argue that had Eddard Stark been aware of Joffrey’s true nature earlier, he would have broken the betrothal, but A. Sansa has no way to know that, B. breaking a betrothal is much easier said than done when dealing with royalty, especially when you’re going to be in close quarters with them for the foreseeable future, and C. as we’ll realize later, Ned is perfectly willing to let the (pretense of a?) betrothal stand if it will allow him to further investigate Jon Arryn’s death. What happened on the banks of the Trident was terrifying, it happened quickly, Sansa was tipsy, and if she speaks out one way or the other she’ll have to make a choice between her sister or the man who is going to be her husband... with deeply unpleasant consequences for herself (and likely Arya as well) regardless of which version of events she chooses to support. With all of this in mind, it’s easy enough for her to convince herself that it’s all a blur. So while Sansa’s (likely subconscious) decision to ‘forget’ what happened on the banks of the Trident isn’t admirable, it is understandable. 

Ultimately, it isn’t Sansa’s fascination with romantic songs that fuels her poor decisions so much as it is the society that encourages her to believe in them. If notions like ‘baseborn < trueborn’, ‘outer beauty = inner goodness’, and ‘proper behavior = rewards’ weren’t given weight in real life---even if only on the surface---it would be much harder for her to cling to the version of reality that the songs are peddling. 

Once again, none of this is to say that Sansa lacks all culpability for her actions due to her socialization. Sansa’s decisions are her own. My point is merely that her “escapist addiction” to romances isn’t the true root of the problem... it’s the society that created and perpetuated those songs to begin with.

*In AFFC, Sansa has consciously begun the process of being Alayne all the time as per Littlefinger’s words. (How well she’ll succeed in this---at least in the short term---is impossible to predict until we get TWOW.) She also has subconsciously transformed the memory of her encounter with Sandor Clegane during the traumatic Battle of Blackwater Bay into one that fits better in one of her beloved romances; in this altered memory, rather than threaten her in a sexually-tinged manner while holding a dagger to her throat, Sandor merely steals a kiss and a song. 

Note that Sansa began this subconscious transformation of her memory in ASOS by adding in a kiss and taking away the dagger: “He'd come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song”. By the time AFFC has rolled around, however, she has seemingly eliminated the memory of his threats altogether, while still keeping in the kiss and using language vaguely reminiscent of a wedding’s cloaking and bedding: “She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak”. 

2. Sansa’s betrayal of her family in King’s Landing

Sansa and Arya are both criminally unprepared for life at court in AGOT. This is somewhat excusable in that if Jon Arryn hadn’t died, they wouldn’t have needed to be prepared yet. However, anyone with a particle of political sense could have seen that there was a solid 90% possibility of Sansa becoming betrothed to Joffrey someday. There just aren’t that many daughters from the Great Houses of the right age in the Seven Kingdoms at this point in time. Add in the fact that the current king considers Eddard Stark his brother and was once betrothed to a Stark himself, and the likelihood of Sansa being chosen doubles or even triples.

So why haven’t Sansa’s parents and septa furthered her political education beyond knowing her sigils and courtesies? (Both of which are certainly important, but there’s only so far Sansa can go on them alone.) Sansa’s a tad young for a betrothal, but she’s not so young that her parents shouldn’t be making plans in that direction... Catelyn, after all, wasn’t much older than AGOT!Sansa when she was first betrothed to Brandon Stark. And even if they haven’t started making plans for Sansa, it’s very odd that Robb, the heir, is still unbetrothed at fourteen/fifteen. 

The real reason, of course, is the Doylist one: GRRM needed to write it that way for the plot to work, just as he needed both Stark girls to be poorly chaperoned and without a proper retinue of ladies-in-waiting. From a Watsonian perspective, however, the primary answer is that both of the Stark parents---but particularly Ned---are suffering from PTSD from the events surrounding Robert’s Rebellion and subconsciously don’t want to teach their children these things or to plan too far ahead into their futures; to do so would mean acknowledging that their children are growing up and will eventually have to leave their circle of protection. This is especially true for their treatment of Sansa and Arya, since according to chivalric sexism, noble girls are ‘innocent’ and in need of protection longer than their male counterparts. Ned Stark in particular seems to feel the urge to shelter and indulge Sansa and Arya, likely due to the trauma of having watched his 16-year-old sister’s death. Besides, there’s always something more immediately urgent, which makes it easy for both parents to procrastinate. This isn’t to say that the Starks didn’t impart valuable lessons to their children, but at the end of the day, they still neglected certain key areas of their children’s education.

Unfortunately, not only are the Stark children unprepared for court politics, but no adult takes any steps to fix this problem once they know that the King is riding to Winterfell. No ‘onscreen’ steps are taken to prepare the Stark girls after Sansa’s betrothal to Joffrey is fixed, nor while traveling on the King’s Road, nor even during their time at King’s Landing. In fact, the closest we see to Sansa getting an education on what ruling might mean is when her septa takes her to watch her father acting as Hand in the throne room, and he is less than pleased about it: “He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today's court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones”. On one hand, Ned does have a point in wanting to protect his eleven-year-old daughter from hearing about the Mountain’s deeds; talk about nightmare fuel! On the other hand, he can’t protect her forever, and he brought a seven-year-old boy to watch an execution; there’s clearly a bit of a gender-based double-standard going on here.

Instead, the girls are poorly chaperoned by a single elderly septa, which is just begging for trouble... and trouble indeed arrives, starting with the events on the banks of the Ruby Ford. If Arya had been properly chaperoned, she never would have been able to run off to play with Mycah (the butcher’s boy), and if Sansa had been properly chaperoned, she wouldn’t have been placed in a position where she was the sole eyewitness to the incident with Joffrey, Arya, and Mycah. But that’s just one incident, you say? Don’t worry, there are plenty of others, the clearest one being the time that Septa Mordane gets drunk and falls asleep at a feast, leaving Sansa entirely at the mercy of Joffrey, Sandor, and anyone else who might walk by.

Moreover, Ned knows that the Lannisters aren’t trustworthy. He knows that something is rotten in King’s Landing. Arya gets a very vague warning (“We have come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves”) from him, but Sansa doesn’t even get that. I’m not saying that he necessarily should have told Sansa about his investigation, mind you---that’s a large burden to place on any child, AGOT!Sansa is not good at intentional deception yet, and she likely wouldn’t have initially believed him anyway. This doesn’t change the fact that Ned should have told her something to help prepare her for the very real dangers of King’s Landing. He should have known better than to believe that keeping Sansa ignorant would keep her safe; just look at the brutal murders of Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen for a start...

Yes, the Queen and Prince are directly responsible for Lady’s death, and yes the king is indirectly responsible for not stopping it, but once again: Sansa is a preteen girl. Of course she doesn’t want to believe that the family she’s going to marry into is truly at fault for the loss of her direwolf or that all of her long-held dreams are just illusions. It’s easy as a reader to say that that event and the murder of Mycah should have been warning enough for Sansa, but from Sansa’s perspective it’s not nearly so clear, especially since Joffrey framed his torture of Mycah as traditional courtly behavior (i.e. ‘defending’ Arya, who is a highborn maiden and the sister of his betrothed). For one thing, Sansa doesn’t have all the clues we as readers do to let us know that the Baratheon-Lannisters are Bad News(TM). (In fact, unlike the rest of the Stark children, Sansa has no notion that there might be serious enmity between the houses of Lannister and Stark---as opposed to just between Jaime Lannister and her father---until it’s too late.) For another, while her father might have protested Lady’s execution, he still went along with it in the end without much of a fight, so it’s not as though the royal family are the only ones to have ‘betrayed’ her. Besides, her father is still friends with Robert and she’s still betrothed to Joffrey... that wouldn’t be the case if the royal family was untrustworthy or cruel, would it? Of course not.

When Ned tells the girls that they’re leaving King’s Landing, he never actually explains why and he refuses to let them so much as say goodbye to anyone. It’s only natural that Sansa is confused and upset by this! From her perspective, this drastic action came out of nowhere. She certainly doesn’t understand that going to Cersei is dangerous or a betrayal. She sees it as ‘my father’s being unreasonable, so I’m going to go to my mother(in-law-to-be) and ask her to talk some sense into him and fix everything’.

While Cersei was the one to push for Lady’s death, Sansa has otherwise only ever gotten a sympathetic impression of Cersei; when around Sansa, Cersei has appeared solely as a courteous queen and the dignified victim of her husband’s drunken abuse. If Sansa wants to stay in King’s Landing, who else can she go to? Her father refuses to listen to her protestations or to explain anything to her, her septa only says that she shouldn’t question her father, and most of her other acquaintances don’t have any sway over her father’s decisions. That only leaves the Royal family, but Sansa finds King Robert too intimidating to approach alone. (“The king could command Father to let her stay in King's Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him.”) And although Sansa believes herself in love with her “gallant prince” Joffrey, she seems to find him intimidating too, if this quote of hers from a feast is any indication: “Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again”. Ultimately, that leaves Cersei as Sansa’s only real choice.

Sansa is short-sighted and selfish when she tells Cersei what little she knows of her father’s plans, but she isn’t actively trying to choose sides in a war, let alone betray anyone. She’s a preteen who just wants her life to go back to what it’s ‘supposed’ to be according to what she’s been taught; what, up until now, it more or less has been. Right now, the worst thing she can imagine happening is what’s already happening---her father forcing her away from the glittering court, from her beloved Joffrey, and from her future as Queen. She knows her father will be angry with her for disobeying him, but it will all work out for the best this way, right?

3.  How “great” and “catastrophic” Sansa’s betrayal actually was

Finally, let’s tackle the “great, catastrophic” part of Sansa’s betrayal. When Sansa goes to Cersei, she’s largely only confirming what Cersei already knew. And how did Cersei know this information? Because Eddard Stark himself told her as part of his warning. (In fact, if we go by the calculations by the brilliant people who put this exhaustive ASOIAF spreadsheet together, there were 3-4 days in between when Ned confronted Cersei and when Sansa went to her.) The only new information Sansa provided Cersei with was that her father wanted to get herself and Arya away--something that Cersei had likely already surmised--as well as the date, time, and location for that departure, thus giving Cersei a more complete and specific understanding of Ned’s plans. 

In practical terms, this means that the primary consequence of Sansa informing Cersei was to negate Ned’s ability to get Sansa, Arya, and other members of the Stark household safely out of King’s Landing before shit started to go down. (Of course, keep in mind that even if Sansa hadn’t gone to Cersei, the success of that plan wasn’t a forgone conclusion.) Now don’t get me wrong, if Ned’s plan to get his household out of the city had worked, that would have been a tremendous improvement over what happened in the original canon timeline, not only for Sansa and Arya, but also for the many innocent Stark retainers who were killed by guards at the Red Keep and for poor Jeyne Poole. That said, it wouldn’t necessarily have changed all of the catastrophic things that happened to the Stark family as a whole. Chances are good that Ned still would have been executed for his ‘treason’ or been quietly offed in his cell. And once Ned was killed, the North’s involvement in the war became pretty much inevitable. Any consequences beyond that are difficult to accurately predict due to the butterfly effect, but I highly doubt the Starks’ lives would have been all rainbows and butterflies. There’s a war ahead, and their enemies include people like Petyr Baelish, Tywin Lannister, and---unless they end up allying with (f)Aegon in this AU---eventually Varys and Illyrio Mopatis. The remaining Starks’ lives probably would have been less traumatic than in canon, but that’s not exactly a high bar to clear, y’know?

Conclusion:

What happens to the Starks in ASOIAF in general and in AGOT in particular is catastrophic... but Sansa’s actions in AGOT are not the primary cause. Petyr Baelish, Lysa Arryn, the Lannisters, the Boltons, the Freys, Varys... even Ned and Catelyn Stark themselves are more immediately at fault for what befalls the Stark family than Sansa. (Which isn’t to say that all of the above parties are even remotely equally culpable!)

One of Sansa’s tragedies is that she embodies and does everything her society has told her she ought to be and do as a Westerosi noblewoman and she still gets screwed over. Everyone gets screwed over by the Westerosi patriarchy, highborn and low, man and woman; even girls who naturally fit into the mold of Westerosi womanhood and possess almost every possible societal advantage aren’t safe. As many of our protagonists of ASOIAF learn, following the chivalric rules of the songs will aid you to a certain degree, but it will only protect you as long as everyone else is playing by those rules too; and, as Petyr Baelish warns Sansa---though admittedly not without external motives---“life is not a song”.

That said, a portion of the ASOIAF fanbase has misunderstood part of the point of this series. Yes, unalloyed belief in the romantic songs is stupid and will only lead to self-delusion and disaster and heartbreak, but that doesn’t mean that we should discount the songs altogether either. Don’t get me wrong: many of the messages propagated by Sansa’s songs are bullshit. The good are not always beautiful, and the beautiful are not always good. Most people aren’t entirely ‘good’ or ‘bad’. ‘Moral’ choices are not always rewarded and ‘immoral’ choices are not always punished. In fact, there isn’t always a clearcut ‘right’ moral decision available, just different gradients of bad ones. Heroism isn’t always sallying forth with a sword, and sallying forth with a sword is not always heroism. A person’s social status or adherence to social ideals is no indicator of their quality as a person. And so on. 

However, it is in romantic songs like the ones that Sansa so loves that we also find ideals worth striving towards... ideals like selfless love, loyalty, justice, kindness, duty, and mercy. Just because those ideals may not reflect reality or may be warped by an imperfect society is no excuse not to try to make them reality when and where we can, whether we are successful in it or not. In fact, it is because reality does not always reflect or reward these ideals that they are so important. Without hope for something better and a willingness to work towards it, we’re left with a world filled with only Tywin Lannisters, Petyr Baelishes, Cersei Lannisters, and Gregor Cleganes... and that would be a sad world indeed. 

When Sandor Clegane says the following to Sansa in ACOK, we aren’t supposed to agree with him: “There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different". The truth lies somewhere in between the brutality of so much of the world and the perfection of the songs. Most knights may not be ‘true’ knights and the ‘truest' of knights may not be actual knights at all, but that doesn’t mean that the concept is without value. That doesn’t mean that the purpose of ‘true’ knights is worthless. You shouldn’t count on being saved by the actions a ‘true’ knight or by acting like a ‘true’ lady, but you should evince the best qualities of those roles yourself.

ASOIAF is absolutely about death and betrayal and despair, but it’s also about love and loyalty and hope. It’s about existential romanticism and existential triumph. It’s about looking the abyss in the eye, but refusing to let yourself become it.

I think you understand this, at least in part, because you yourself say in the introduction that “This [the fact that so many of the characters suffer, often pointlessly, and fail] may sound very bleak and cynical, but it ends up being the glory of the novel. Because it makes the triumphs, when they come, more earned, human, and exciting. It reminds us of and honors our own victories, helps us make sense of our own reversals, and warns us against our vanities.” 

A Game of Thrones may not be “very kind to fantasy”, but I would argue that GRRM is quite fond of fantasy; he just wants us to remember that neither the trappings of high fantasy (crowns, tourneys, magic, wars, etc.) nor true heroism ever come without a cost. 

In conclusion: I understand where you’re coming from, and I understand that you didn’t have the necessary amount of space in your introduction to go into this level of detail, but... (ง'̀-'́)ง

[qrbits]

Finished the project I’ve been working on for the past month! It’s kind of a hybrid of a visdev portfolio and a self indulgent story guide. Due to tumblr’s photo limit, I only shared about half of the pages here, but if you’re interested in reading the whole thing, you can find it here. 

I have a lot to reflect upon, but the text is very long (and basically a creative biography ;;;), so I’ll put it under the cut. 

(I’m taking advantage of the fact that tumblr is supposed to be a blogging platform and actually writing a blog for once LOL)

As I said in the introduction page, Red Scherzo is a story I’ve been musing over for several years, and it’s not possible to truly understand the project without understanding its history. As most other creatives will relate, writing is Hard. Creating worlds is Hard. And even more so, creating people is Hard. 

The inkling for this story began in 2014 after I decided that I wanted to write something good. Something cool, something grand. And like most clueless 15 year olds with too much time on their hands, I began to daydream. I reasoned that the best way to make something really cool would be to list out everything that I ever wanted to see in film, in text, in anime, and to somehow mash it into one story. Here are some of the things I demanded from it: nonlinear storytelling, genius foreshadowing, heavy symbolism, characters who are the perfect balance of tragic and relatable, a powerful message, and the list goes on and on. I collected images of beautiful places and beautiful people that I wanted to write stories about and decided that I would incorporate them somehow.

As you can see, these are all very vague, ambiguous elements of storytelling. And so, with only the notion of wanting to make greatness, I began to write. I wrote and plotted and drew iteration after iteration, and I was never satisfied, because how could I be?  There was no way that I could have satisfied the guidelines I set for myself. 

A few years in, about 200,000 words of plotting and 2 or 3 Nanowrimo’s later,  I’d decided to make the story (it was not called Red Scherzo back then) a webcomic. I was starry-eyed and determined. This would be the project I worked on for the foreseeable rest of my life. I’d calculated that if I posted an update a week, it would take until my mid 30′s to complete. 

Saying that now feels so incomprehensible and hilarious. Very little planning went into how the story was going to look, and I had little to no experience storyboarding, panelling, scripting, and so much more. I jumped straight in with a script that was maybe 1/1000 complete, and let my whims drive the visual direction. I got 4 decently sized updates in until I realized I couldn’t keep doing this.

After one last Nanowrimo I did for this story in my first year of college, I decided that I needed to trash the whole thing. Just forget the entire past four years happened, and release myself. It had become a burden, trying to perfect the story, trying to make it something bigger than what I currently had the capacity for. And so I did. I closed all the Google Drive tabs, closed all the Photoshop files, and just stopped thinking about it.

It was a very strange 6 months. I hadn’t known what it was like to not have story in my head for many many years. To not have some scene playing out in my head as I went to sleep, to not see something quirky happen and think about how my characters would react, to not see a beautiful setting and want to inject my story into it. Because my head was clear now, empty and free of any sort of expectations. Of course, in this time, I tried to carefully and slowly plan other stories, and to find some sort of spark that would bring me back into the story realm. I won’t say those were all failures, but just that they need some time to brew, just like Red Scherzo did.

In those 6 empty months, I paid more attention to living. I paid attention to people, ideas, and truths that were important to me. I was struggling with academics for the first time in my life, and learning what it meant to make sacrifices and live in a fulfilling and exciting way. I reread my old old stories that I believed held some capacity of beauty and authenticity and began to illustrate them. I decided what kind of art I wanted to make and what kind of things I wanted to say with it.

And then I returned to Red Scherzo. My mistakes were glaringly obvious now. This story was written during high school, during a time where I was not challenged, not exploring, and not genuine. I used the excuse of plotting to have something to be working on, always, and to be able to show off how much work I was putting into an arbitrary project. It was written during a time when I was feeling bored and suffocated, and used the story as a lifeline to entertain myself. I had goals and things I wanted to say with my writing, but it was all artificial, because I didn’t know it felt like to live like I wanted to.  

You’ve probably grasped by now that the morale of what I’ve just written is that you need to live in order to create. (And that this blog has gotten horribly off topic).  You can’t know what kinds of characters you want to write if you don’t go out there and meet characters. You can’t know what kinds of worlds you want to build if you’ve never experienced yours. 

Okay, so trying to loop all this back around to the actual portfolio. 

Well, obviously, I’ve never been a schizophrenic rich boy living in the 1950′s who writes symphonies and chases murderers. But I think that now, I’m able to understand and respect the people that guide my stories a bit better. I’m less impatient and less worried about making something perfect, which this portfolio is definitely not.

I have a good number of gripes over how this project ended up, but I’m not going to try to add to it or fix it because I want to keep it as a marker in time. This right here is the current maximum of my creative efforts. There are many things in it that I’d never drawn, much less designed before in my life. Cars, knives, buildings, interiors. I discovered that I enjoyed drawing many of these things. I also did the entire thing in a style that I’d hardly used before, just to challenge myself. (I took a lot of inspiration from the way kenesu’s was formatted, and the style that Renareve and Sophie Li’s was done in). 

By the time I hit the midway point, I already knew that I was capable of far more than the project was offering me, but I stuck it through because I needed to finish something solid. 

I’m excited to let this project go into the wild and begin to plan what my next one will be like. There are so many styles and genres I want to try. I feel like I’ve only just discovered the tip of the iceberg of my creative potential.

If you made it, thank you for reading until the end. I hope at least some of this blog made sense or resonated with you!

[connectionqc]

A Different Approach

I was recently talking with a new friend over coffee, sharing a bit about what we do at Connection Quad Cities. After explaining our mission, my friend asked, “How are you different than a Unitarian Universalist church?” I thought it was a valid question and it made me wonder if other people have thought the same thing, so I wanted to take a moment to briefly explain the difference between Connection Quad Cities and a UU church.

To be clear, I am solely pointing out differences in what you would experience at a gathering. I’m not addressing our theological differences. Because Connection Quad Cities is a non-religious non-profit, we do not have an official stance or statement of beliefs. I also want to make it clear that I am speaking in generalizations. Not every UU church is the same, so what I say might not apply to all UU churches.

Oh. One more thing I’d like to add to this lengthy preface; the point of comparing isn’t to make a statement about being better than anyone. I think that the UU tradition is beautiful and, because they offer something we don’t, I often recommend the UU tradition to people that cross my path.

So how are we different? Most simply put, when you attend a Connection Quad Cities gathering you don’t feel like you’re attending a church service. Most UU services retain, more or less, the same structure and feel of a traditional church service. They include the same elements—or have a similar liturgy—as a traditional church service. For example, UU services typically include songs and sermons or homilies. One of our local congregations sits in pews and their is beautiful stained glass windows. You can become a member of a UU church.

Attending a Connection gathering, however, does not feel like church. One of the most glaringly obvious reasons is that we don’t sing songs. The second thing most people point out is how we sit around a table and have a conversation. There are no pews, or rows of seats, all facing a stage. This is very intentional. The focus is not on receiving a message or information from the front of the room, the focus is on connecting with those around you.

There are two instances during our gathering where a discussion is facilitated. The first discussion comes after we read either read a parable or excerpt from a book or have a time of group meditation. The second group discussion is held in place of a traditional sermon. Someone will present a topic for discussion to get the ball rolling and we go from there.

I have heard people describe what we do in various ways, some say it is similar to an AA meeting, some say it feels like a group therapy session, others say it is like a family get together. Either way the goal of each gathering is for people to walk away knowing that they aren’t alone and knowing that people love and care for them.

To learn more about what our gatherings look and feel like, and why we do what we do, you can watch this series of videos. If you are still curious, don’t hesitate to join us on a Sunday or to reach out with questions!

[virginieboesus]

PS2 Review – The Bouncer

So, it’s been quite some time since I wrote a review of a game, hasn’t it? The reason for that, as discussed in my “Plans for 2019” post (here), is that I wanted to slow down my reviews and take the time to actually write better ones. That way, rather than just churning out low quality reviews, I could actually offer some insights into the game I am reviewing.

With that said, I wanted to get the next review going, and after replaying The Bouncer recently (some of it on stream on my Twitch channel), as well as seeing the mixed opinions on the game, I thought that would be a great one to start with. So, let’s take a look at Square’s first beat-em-up style game on the PS2.

But first, if you are interested in seeing my live reactions and experiences of going back to The Bouncer, you can watch the recording of my livestream below!

Storyline

Okay, so we’re going to stick with the same, tried and tested format for my reviews. That means that we are going to be starting with The Bouncer’s storyline. This is because the storyline of a game is on the most important aspects of a game in my opinion.

For The Bouncer, the storyline is somewhat weak, in all honesty. At least, it feels weak for a game made by the juggernaut that was Square. In all fairness to the game, though, it is a beat-em-up, and the genre isn’t really known for deep and meaningful plots. Instead, the most famous beat-em-ups revolve around either saving a girl who was kidnapped for no real reason, or taking down a corrupt businessman or gang leader.

The Bouncer’s plotline sort of mixes both of these tropes into one story, whilst actually adding backstories to the characters and reasons for their actions. So that’s already a big positive compared to the rest of the genre.

Starting off with your group’s friend, Dominique, being kidnapped by the Mikado Special Forces, you would be forgiven for thinking that the game is just doing the same opening as so many others. However, things go from generic to mildly interesting rather quickly. For example, you learn about biological experiments on humans, a plot to use “unlimited energy” as a way to gain control over the world, and using cybernetics to save the lives of people you love and care for.

In other words, the plot offers more than your typically beat-em-up. However, I have to be honest, it isn’t that exciting and does take a backseat to the general desire to just punch your way through each level.

There are branching points in the story, which is a nice inclusion. These happen based upon two factors;

Your actions in specific levels and areas.

Which character you choose to play as in that specific level.

For example, there is a bit on a train where you can detach a train car containing rocket fuel. If you manage to do it, then the following level will happen slightly differently compared to when you don’t make it.

Another example would be when you learn the history about a specific secondary character. If you are playing as Sion, then he will remember that character and they will survive. However, if you are playing as one of the other two characters, Sion won’t remember this person and they will subsequently die.

As I said, this is a nice touch to add to a beat-em-up game, showing its routes in the development studio behind the Final Fantasy series. However, it doesn’t really have much of a lasting effect on the rest of the game, nor the storyline as a whole.

Therefore, whilst it does add replay value, it doesn’t add anything significant to the plot. And unfortunately, that’s probably the biggest negative about The Bouncer’s storyline; it feels like it could have been so much better.

Personally, there is nothing more annoying than seeing something that is (in all honest) mediocre, but also has glaringly obvious ways to make it so much more! The Bouncer’s storyline feels like it could be a great intro to an amazing plot but just doesn’t hit the mark on its own.

Although I have to say, the ending has a very touching scene, even if it is easily missed due to the still frame images that flash on and off screen.

Gameplay

Typically, where the storyline of a game by Square doesn’t quite match up to expectations, the gameplay is usually top notch. That’s one of the many reasons why Square was my favourite development studio for so many years.

The Bouncer somehow manages to both live up to this and buck the trend at the same time.

If we start by addressing the elephant in the room, the combat could do with a bit more polish. The overall system is really good, with the ability to gain levels like an RPG and learn new abilities and attacks. This should provide a huge amount of move variation and make the combat feel constantly fresh and exciting. In a sense, it almost makes it feel like an action RPG.

And you know what? It does manage to do just that, as long as you take the time to learn and carry out the various new moves that you gain. Sadly, there isn’t really much of a reason to do that.

In fact, it may actually be detrimental to your progression if you try and use all of the moves you can get. Instead, if you are more interested in getting through the game to see the conclusion of the storyline, it’s actually easier to just use the base punch or kick combos!

I managed to get through almost the entire game using just the base combos, smashing the enemies to pieces with ease. The only time I had to use something different was when I came up against the dogs. Even then, all I needed was the low-kick combo that (again) is a base combo that you don’t need to unlock.

The thing is, I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. It does mean that anyone can pick up The Bouncer and play through it without too much of a challenge. However, it also means that the level up and skill learning mechanics are largely irrelevant. And without those mechanics, there isn’t much to separate The Bouncer from any other beat-em-up out there. Thus, we come up against another issue; the game doesn’t really stack up against the other, more popular beat-em-ups without these mechanics.

The reason for this is simple; The Bouncer feels slow! Everything from the running animations to the actual attacks makes you feel like the entire game is running in a mild Bullet Time effect.

Now, I was playing the game on an original PS2 console, and it felt really sluggish. This may be due to the fact that, as I’m in the UK, I have to play the PAL version which runs at a lower frame rate than NTSC. But as that’s the version of the game we get in Europe, that’s the one I have to look at.

It’s not all bad, though. Probably the best thing about the gameplay is the inclusion of ragdoll physics. There is something incredibly satisfying to watch the enemies go flying across the room after you give them a swift kick.

This, along with the fact that (if you are a completionist) there are a tonne of moves to get, meaning that the game offers quite a lot of replay value. That, of course, is a great thing – as long as you don’t mind playing through the slow and (honestly) rather repetitive fights multiple times.

Graphics

Okay, so we’ve spoken about a lot of negatives with The Bouncer so far, but now we can get to some positives. Specifically, the graphical presentation of the game is really good, especially for a very early PlayStation 2 game.

The character designs, to be fair, are somewhat outrageous. But then, this is a Square game so you have to expect it. Interestingly, if you look at Sion’s character design, it is rather obvious that his design was a sort of Sora – Version 0.1. He shares so many traits with the lead of Kingdom Hearts.

However, character models aside, the game looks great for its time. The environments feel realistic and lived in, building the world extremely well. Despite the animations being slow, they are animated brilliantly, with each one looking unique and like it actually hurts the recipient.

The cutscenes are also very well choreographed, with each one capturing a sense of urgency, relief or other emotion. I don’t really have anything negative to say about the graphics of The Bouncer; it really does look great for its age. Sadly, that does mean that the other negatives (in terms of the plot and gameplay) become ever more obvious.

This is due to the fact that the developers were able to make an early PS2 title look as good as it does, but not manage to reach the same potential with the other aspects of the game.

And That’s All Folks

The Bouncer feels like a game that could have been absolutely amazing. It had the pedigree of being developed by Square, one of the top development studios in the world in the ’90s. This shows through in the graphics and the branching parts of the storyline.

However, the overall implementation and execution of the game just don’t live up to the potential that it had. The oddly slow, and repetitive, gameplay is a real hindrance to your enjoyment, and the story tries to add more to the genre but doesn’t quite manage to pull it off when it comes to getting your invested.

The Bouncer isn’t a bad game. It can be fun to play, but it doesn’t quite reach the level of other beat-em-ups, nor does it succeed add being an action-RPG style game either. Instead, it sits somewhere between the two, almost as if it were a Jack of all trades, yet master of none. This is a real shame, as The Bouncer definitely could have mixed RPG elements with the beat-em-up formula really well, but just didn’t manage to do it in the end.

If you are a fan of Square, then give this game a try. You may very well enjoy it! Just, don’t go into it expecting their previous levels of innovation to shine through.

from More Design Curation https://www.16bitdad.com/ps2-review-the-bouncer/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=ps2-review-the-bouncer source https://smartstartblogging.tumblr.com/post/181990873955

[smartstartblogging]

PS2 Review – The Bouncer

So, it’s been quite some time since I wrote a review of a game, hasn’t it? The reason for that, as discussed in my “Plans for 2019” post (here), is that I wanted to slow down my reviews and take the time to actually write better ones. That way, rather than just churning out low quality reviews, I could actually offer some insights into the game I am reviewing.

With that said, I wanted to get the next review going, and after replaying The Bouncer recently (some of it on stream on my Twitch channel), as well as seeing the mixed opinions on the game, I thought that would be a great one to start with. So, let’s take a look at Square’s first beat-em-up style game on the PS2.

But first, if you are interested in seeing my live reactions and experiences of going back to The Bouncer, you can watch the recording of my livestream below!

Storyline

Okay, so we’re going to stick with the same, tried and tested format for my reviews. That means that we are going to be starting with The Bouncer’s storyline. This is because the storyline of a game is on the most important aspects of a game in my opinion.

For The Bouncer, the storyline is somewhat weak, in all honesty. At least, it feels weak for a game made by the juggernaut that was Square. In all fairness to the game, though, it is a beat-em-up, and the genre isn’t really known for deep and meaningful plots. Instead, the most famous beat-em-ups revolve around either saving a girl who was kidnapped for no real reason, or taking down a corrupt businessman or gang leader.

The Bouncer’s plotline sort of mixes both of these tropes into one story, whilst actually adding backstories to the characters and reasons for their actions. So that’s already a big positive compared to the rest of the genre.

Starting off with your group’s friend, Dominique, being kidnapped by the Mikado Special Forces, you would be forgiven for thinking that the game is just doing the same opening as so many others. However, things go from generic to mildly interesting rather quickly. For example, you learn about biological experiments on humans, a plot to use “unlimited energy” as a way to gain control over the world, and using cybernetics to save the lives of people you love and care for.

In other words, the plot offers more than your typically beat-em-up. However, I have to be honest, it isn’t that exciting and does take a backseat to the general desire to just punch your way through each level.

There are branching points in the story, which is a nice inclusion. These happen based upon two factors;

Your actions in specific levels and areas.

Which character you choose to play as in that specific level.

For example, there is a bit on a train where you can detach a train car containing rocket fuel. If you manage to do it, then the following level will happen slightly differently compared to when you don’t make it.

Another example would be when you learn the history about a specific secondary character. If you are playing as Sion, then he will remember that character and they will survive. However, if you are playing as one of the other two characters, Sion won’t remember this person and they will subsequently die.

As I said, this is a nice touch to add to a beat-em-up game, showing its routes in the development studio behind the Final Fantasy series. However, it doesn’t really have much of a lasting effect on the rest of the game, nor the storyline as a whole.

Therefore, whilst it does add replay value, it doesn’t add anything significant to the plot. And unfortunately, that’s probably the biggest negative about The Bouncer’s storyline; it feels like it could have been so much better.

Personally, there is nothing more annoying than seeing something that is (in all honest) mediocre, but also has glaringly obvious ways to make it so much more! The Bouncer’s storyline feels like it could be a great intro to an amazing plot but just doesn’t hit the mark on its own.

Although I have to say, the ending has a very touching scene, even if it is easily missed due to the still frame images that flash on and off screen.

Gameplay

Typically, where the storyline of a game by Square doesn’t quite match up to expectations, the gameplay is usually top notch. That’s one of the many reasons why Square was my favourite development studio for so many years.

The Bouncer somehow manages to both live up to this and buck the trend at the same time.

If we start by addressing the elephant in the room, the combat could do with a bit more polish. The overall system is really good, with the ability to gain levels like an RPG and learn new abilities and attacks. This should provide a huge amount of move variation and make the combat feel constantly fresh and exciting. In a sense, it almost makes it feel like an action RPG.

And you know what? It does manage to do just that, as long as you take the time to learn and carry out the various new moves that you gain. Sadly, there isn’t really much of a reason to do that.

In fact, it may actually be detrimental to your progression if you try and use all of the moves you can get. Instead, if you are more interested in getting through the game to see the conclusion of the storyline, it’s actually easier to just use the base punch or kick combos!

I managed to get through almost the entire game using just the base combos, smashing the enemies to pieces with ease. The only time I had to use something different was when I came up against the dogs. Even then, all I needed was the low-kick combo that (again) is a base combo that you don’t need to unlock.

The thing is, I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. It does mean that anyone can pick up The Bouncer and play through it without too much of a challenge. However, it also means that the level up and skill learning mechanics are largely irrelevant. And without those mechanics, there isn’t much to separate The Bouncer from any other beat-em-up out there. Thus, we come up against another issue; the game doesn’t really stack up against the other, more popular beat-em-ups without these mechanics.

The reason for this is simple; The Bouncer feels slow! Everything from the running animations to the actual attacks makes you feel like the entire game is running in a mild Bullet Time effect.

Now, I was playing the game on an original PS2 console, and it felt really sluggish. This may be due to the fact that, as I’m in the UK, I have to play the PAL version which runs at a lower frame rate than NTSC. But as that’s the version of the game we get in Europe, that’s the one I have to look at.

It’s not all bad, though. Probably the best thing about the gameplay is the inclusion of ragdoll physics. There is something incredibly satisfying to watch the enemies go flying across the room after you give them a swift kick.

This, along with the fact that (if you are a completionist) there are a tonne of moves to get, meaning that the game offers quite a lot of replay value. That, of course, is a great thing – as long as you don’t mind playing through the slow and (honestly) rather repetitive fights multiple times.

Graphics

Okay, so we’ve spoken about a lot of negatives with The Bouncer so far, but now we can get to some positives. Specifically, the graphical presentation of the game is really good, especially for a very early PlayStation 2 game.

The character designs, to be fair, are somewhat outrageous. But then, this is a Square game so you have to expect it. Interestingly, if you look at Sion’s character design, it is rather obvious that his design was a sort of Sora – Version 0.1. He shares so many traits with the lead of Kingdom Hearts.

However, character models aside, the game looks great for its time. The environments feel realistic and lived in, building the world extremely well. Despite the animations being slow, they are animated brilliantly, with each one looking unique and like it actually hurts the recipient.

The cutscenes are also very well choreographed, with each one capturing a sense of urgency, relief or other emotion. I don’t really have anything negative to say about the graphics of The Bouncer; it really does look great for its age. Sadly, that does mean that the other negatives (in terms of the plot and gameplay) become ever more obvious.

This is due to the fact that the developers were able to make an early PS2 title look as good as it does, but not manage to reach the same potential with the other aspects of the game.

And That’s All Folks

The Bouncer feels like a game that could have been absolutely amazing. It had the pedigree of being developed by Square, one of the top development studios in the world in the ’90s. This shows through in the graphics and the branching parts of the storyline.

However, the overall implementation and execution of the game just don’t live up to the potential that it had. The oddly slow, and repetitive, gameplay is a real hindrance to your enjoyment, and the story tries to add more to the genre but doesn’t quite manage to pull it off when it comes to getting your invested.

The Bouncer isn’t a bad game. It can be fun to play, but it doesn’t quite reach the level of other beat-em-ups, nor does it succeed add being an action-RPG style game either. Instead, it sits somewhere between the two, almost as if it were a Jack of all trades, yet master of none. This is a real shame, as The Bouncer definitely could have mixed RPG elements with the beat-em-up formula really well, but just didn’t manage to do it in the end.

If you are a fan of Square, then give this game a try. You may very well enjoy it! Just, don’t go into it expecting their previous levels of innovation to shine through.

from More Design Curation https://www.16bitdad.com/ps2-review-the-bouncer/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=ps2-review-the-bouncer

[imustbeamermaidrango]

Spiritual Bypassing

AVOIDANCE IN HOLY DRAG

Spiritual bypassing, a term first coined by psychologist John Welwood in 1984, is the use of spiritual practices and beliefs to avoid dealing with our painful feelings, unresolved wounds, and developmental needs. It is much more common than we might think and, in fact, is so pervasive as to go largely unnoticed, except in its more obvious extremes.

Part of the reason for this is that we tend not to have very much tolerance, both personally and collectively, for facing, entering, and working through our pain, strongly preferring pain-numbing “solutions,” regardless of how much suffering such “remedies” may catalyze. Because this preference has so deeply and thoroughly infiltrated our culture that it has become all but normalized, spiritual bypassing fits almost seamlessly into our collective habit of turning away from what is painful, as a kind of higher analgesic with seemingly minimal side effects. It is a spiritualized strategy not only for avoiding pain but also for legitimizing such avoidance, in ways ranging from the blatantly obvious to the extremely subtle.

Spiritual bypassing is a very persistent shadow of spirituality, manifesting in many ways, often without being acknowledged as such. Aspects of spiritual bypassing include exaggerated detachment, emotional numbing and repression, overemphasis on the positive, anger-phobia, blind or overly tolerant compassion, weak or too porous boundaries, lopsided development (cognitive intelligence often being far ahead of emotional and moral intelligence), debilitating judgment about one’s negativity or shadow elements, devaluation of the personal relative to the spiritual, and delusions of having arrived at a higher level of being.

The explosion of interest in spirituality, especially Eastern spirituality, since the mid-1960s has been accompanied by a corresponding interest and immersion in spiritual bypassing—which has, however, not very often been named, let alone viewed, as such. It has been easier to frame spiritual bypassing as a religion-transcending, spiritually advanced practice/perspective, especially in the facile fast-food spirituality epitomized by faddish phenomena like The Secret. Some of the more glaringly plastic features of this, such as its drive-through servings of reheated wisdom like “Don’t take it personally” or “Whatever bothers you about someone is really only about you” or “It’s all just an illusion,” are available for consumption and parroting by just about anyone.

Happily, the honeymoon with false or superficial notions of spirituality is starting to wane. Enough bubbles have been burst; enough spiritual teachers, Eastern and Western, have been caught with pants or halo down; enough cults have come and gone; enough time has been spent with spiritual baubles, credentials, energy transmissions, and gurucentrism to sense deeper treasures. But valuable as the desire for a more authentic spirituality is, such change will not occur on any significant scale and really take root until spiritual bypassing is outgrown, and that is not as easy as it might sound, for it asks that we cease turning away from our pain, numbing ourselves, and expecting spirituality to make us feel better.

True spirituality is not a high, not a rush, not an altered state. It has been fine to romance it for a while, but our times call for something far more real, grounded, and responsible; something radically alive and naturally integral; something that shakes us to our very core until we stop treating spiritual deepening as a something to dabble in here and there. Authentic spirituality is not some little flicker or buzz of knowingness, not a psychedelic blast-through or a mellow hanging-out on some exalted plane of consciousness, not a bubble of immunity, but a vast fire of liberation, an exquisitely fitting crucible and sanctuary, providing both heat and light for what must be done.

Most of the time when we’re immersed in spiritual bypassing, we like the light but not the heat, doing whatever we can to distance ourselves from the flames.

And when we’re caught up in the grosser forms of spiritual bypassing, we’d usually much rather theorize about the frontiers of consciousness than actually go there, sedating the fire rather than breathing it even more alive, espousing the ideal of unconditional love while not permitting love to show up in its more challenging, personal dimensions. To do so would be too hot, too scary, and too out-of-control, bringing things to the surface that we have long disowned or suppressed.

But if we really want the light, we cannot afford to flee the heat. As Victor Frankl said, “What gives light must endure burning.” And being with the fire’s heat doesn’t just mean sitting with the difficult stuff in meditation, but also going into it, trekking to its core, facing and entering and getting intimate with whatever is there, however scary or traumatic or sad or raw.

We have had quite an affair with Eastern spiritual pathways, but now it is time to go deeper. We must do this not only to get more intimate with the essence of these wisdom traditions beyond ritual and belief and dogma but also to make room for the healthy evolution, not just the necessary Westernization, of these traditions so that their presentation ceases encouraging spiritual bypassing (however indirectly) and, in fact, consciously and actively ceases giving it soil to flower. These changes won’t happen to any significant degree, however, unless we work in-depth and integratively with our physical, emotional, psychological, spiritual, and social dimensions to generate an ever-deeper sense of wholeness, vitality, and basic sanity.

Any spiritual path, Eastern or Western, that does not deal in real depth with psychological issues, and deal with these in more than just spiritual contexts, is setting itself up for an abundance of spiritual bypassing. If there is not sufficient encouragement and support from spiritual teachers and teachings for their students to engage in significant depth in psychoemotional work, and if those students who really need such work don’t then do it, they’ll be left trying to work out their psychoemotional issues, traumatic and otherwise, only through the spiritual practices they have been given, as if doing so is somehow superior to—or a “higher” activity than—engaging in quality psychotherapy. Psychotherapy is often viewed as an inferior undertaking relative to spiritual practice, perhaps even something we “shouldn’t” have to do. When our spiritual bypassing is more subtle, the idea of psychotherapy may be considered more acceptable but we will still shy away from a full-blooded investigation of our core wounds.

Spiritual bypassing is largely occupied, at least in its New Age forms, by the idea of wholeness and the innate unity of Being—“Oneness” being perhaps its favorite bumper sticker—but actually generates and reinforces fragmentation by separating out from and rejecting what is painful, distressed, and unhealed; all the far-from-flattering aspects of being human. By consistently keeping these in the dark, “down below” (when we’re locked into our headquarters, our body and feelings seem to be below us), they tend to behave badly when let out, much like animals that have spent too long in cages. Our neglect here of these aspects of ourselves, however gently framed, is akin to that of otherwise caring parents who leave their children without sufficient food, clothing, or care. The trappings of spiritual bypassing can look good, particularly when they seem to promise freedom from life’s fuss and fury, but this supposed serenity and detachment is often little more than metaphysical valium, especially for those who have made too much of a virtue out of being and looking positive.

A common telltale sign of spiritual bypassing is a lack of grounding and in-the-body experience that tends to keep us either spacily afloat in how we relate to the world or too rigidly tethered to a spiritual system that provides the solidity we lack. We also may fall into premature forgiveness and emotional dissociation, and confuse anger with aggression and ill will, which leaves us disempowered, riddled with weak boundaries. The overdone niceness that often characterizes spiritual bypassing strands it from emotional depth and authenticity; and its underlying grief—mostly unspoken, untouched, unacknowledged—keeps it marooned from the very caring that would unwrap and undo it, like a baby being readied for a bath by a loving parent.

Spiritual bypassing distances us not only from our pain and difficult personal issues but also from our own authentic spirituality, stranding us in a metaphysical limbo, a zone of exaggerated gentleness, niceness, and superficiality. Its frequently disconnected nature keeps it adrift, clinging to the weight of its self-conferred spiritual credentials. As such, it maroons us from embodying our full humanity.

But let us not be too hard on spiritual bypassing, for every one of us who has entered into the spiritual has engaged in spiritual bypassing, at least to some degree, having for years used other means to make ourselves feel better or more secure. Why would we not also approach spirituality, particularly at first, with much the same expectation that it make us feel better or more secure?

To truly outgrow spiritual bypassing—which in part means releasing spirituality (and everything else!) from the obligation to make us feel better or more secure or more whole—we must not only see it for what it is and cease engaging in it but also view it with genuine compassion, however fiery that might be or need to be. The spiritual bypasser in us needs not censure nor shaming but rather to be consciously and caringly included in our awareness without being allowed to run the show. Becoming intimate with our own capacity for spiritual bypassing allows us to keep it in healthy perspective.

I have worked with many clients who described themselves as being on a spiritual path, particularly as meditators. Most were preoccupied, at least initially, with being nice, trying to be positive and nonjudgmental, while impaling themselves on various spiritual “shoulds,” such as “I should not show anger” or “I should be more loving” or “I should be more open after all the time I’ve put into my spiritual practice.” Fleeing their darker (or “less spiritual”) emotions, impulses, and intentions, they had, to varying degrees, trapped themselves within the very practices (and beliefs) that they had hoped might liberate them, or at least make them feel better.

Even the most exquisitely designed spiritual methodologies can become traps, leading not to freedom but only to reinforcement, however subtle, of the very “I” that wants to be a somebody who has attained or realized freedom (the very same “I” that doesn’t realize there are no Oscars for awakening). The most obvious potential traps-in-waiting include the belief that we should rise above our difficulties and simply embrace Oneness, even as the tendency to divide everything into positive and negative, higher and lower, spiritual and nonspiritual, runs wild in us. Subtler traps-in-waiting, less densely populated with metaphysical lullabies and ascension metaphors and far more discerning, teach non-aversion through cultivating a capacity for dispassionate witnessing and/or various devotional rituals. Subtler still are those that emphasize meeting everything with acceptance and compassion. Each approach has its own value, if only to eventually propel us into an even deeper direction, and each is far from immune to being possessed by spiritual bypassing, especially when we are still hoping, whatever our depth of spiritual practice, to reach a state of immunity to suffering (both personally and collectively).

As my spiritually inclined clients become more intimate with their pain and difficulties, coming to understand the origins of their troubles with a more open ear and heart, they either abandon their misguided spiritual practices and reenter a more fitting version of them with less submissiveness and more integrity and creativity or find new practices that better suit their needs, coming to recognize more deeply that everything—everything!—can serve their healing and awakening.

In the facing and outgrowing of spiritual bypassing, we enter a deeper life—a life of full-blooded integrity, depth, love, and sanity; a life of authenticity on every level; a life in which the personal, interpersonal, and transpersonal are all honored and lived to the fullest.

-- http://robertmasters.com/writings/spiritual-bypassing/